


Namaste With Me

by Kenda1L



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aerial Arts, Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Yoga, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Disaster Gay Otabek, Disaster Gay Yuri Plisetsky, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, I'm Sorry, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Otabek Still Skates, Otabek is...not, Overuse of Tropes, Pole Dancing, Pole Dancing Instructor Yuuri, Sexual Situations, Social Media, Twister - Freeform, Unadulterated Self Indulgent Garbage and Not Ashamed, Yoga, Yoga Mommies are scary, Yoga Teacher Yuri, Yuri is very flexible, don't ask just read, otayuri big bang 2018, these tags are a mess, wow that's an actual tag that's cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-12 11:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16872402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenda1L/pseuds/Kenda1L
Summary: Otabek might hate ballet, but his coach is convinced that he needs to increase his flexibility somehow if he plans to win the Grand Prix this season. When she signs him up for yoga at a studio with a reputation of working with athletes, he reluctantly agrees to give it a try. There, he meets his new instructor Yuri Plisetsky, a former competitive skater Otabek had low-key obsessed over until he disappeared from the skating world on the eve of his Seniors debut. Suddenly, yoga isn’t looking half bad.***Yuri bursts through the front door, vaults the reception desk, and hides behind the safety of Katsuki’s legs. Katsuki tilts his head and looks down at him, perplexed. “Uh, hi?"“Shh!” Yuri hisses. “Don’t look at me, I’m not here!” Katsuki opens his mouth but Yuri cuts him off. “Otabek Altin, the Otabek Altin, is outside!"Katsuki frowns. “I know,” he says. “His coach called last week and asked if I could work with him.”Yuri stares at him, betrayed. “And you didn’t tell me?” he growls, gesturing emphatically. He squeezes his forgotten coffee too hard and the lid pops off, slopping coffee all over him. Katsuki skips backward a step and shakes a few stray drops off his foot.“Really, Yura?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Otayuri Big Bang! I will be posting every other day, so be sure to subscribe for updates. Please be sure to check out the beautiful art created by[Parheliona](https://parheliona.tumblr.com/post/180959154884/my-contribution-for-the-otayuri-big-bang) and give her and all her other art all the love that she deserves!
> 
> Awkward boys are awkward. I can be found on tumblr at [disasterbek-altin](https://disasterbek-altin.tumblr.com), Twitter at [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/kenda1l1) and Pillowfort at [kenda1l](https://www.pillowfort.io/kenda1l). The latter two don't have much up, but I'm working on it!

Otabek stares at the storefront before him dubiously. He sighs heavily into his phone. “Remind me again how yoga is different from ballet?”

“You’re shitting me, right?” Otabek jumps and spins around. A man watches him, hip and eyebrow cocked and a yoga mat slung carelessly across his back. He’s holding an iced coffee nearly the size of his head; Otabek admires his dedication to caffeine. “Have you ever actually _seen_ ballet before? Or yoga? Are you blind behind those sunglasses?”

Otabek can’t resist. “Yes, actually.”

The look on the other guy’s face is priceless. “I, oh shit, I’m so-” The click of Otabek’s phone camera stops his stuttering dead in its tracks. “Are you screwing with me?” he asks incredulously.

Otabek bites his lip in an effort to hold back a smirk. “Amina, let me call you back,” he tells his coach before hanging up on her. He pushes his sunglasses down his nose. “What makes you think I was talking about the blind thing?” he asks innocently. “I was just saying I’ve seen ballet before.”

Blondie’s mouth goes slack as his eyes widen. It’s definitely not the reaction Otabek was expecting. “Holy shit, you’re…” He flushes abruptly and jerks his coffee up in front of his face with a strangled noise. “I have to go,” he mumbles from behind it before practically fleeing into the yoga studio. Otabek turns to watch him, blinking in confusion.

“Okay…?” he says slowly. He looks down at the picture still displayed on his phone screen and narrows his eyes at it. _Why does he look so familiar?_ The screen darkens and goes black as he ponders. His reflection smirks back up at him. Looks like he has a better reason than flexibility to give yoga a try.

 

***

 

Yuri bursts through the front door, vaults the reception desk, and hides behind the safety of Katsuki’s legs. Katsuki tilts his head and looks down at him, perplexed. “Uh, hi?”

“Shh!” Yuri hisses. “Don’t look at me, I’m not here!” Katsuki opens his mouth but Yuri cuts him off. “Otabek Altin, _the_ Otabek Altin, is outside!”

Katsuki frowns. “I know,” he says. “His coach called last week and asked if I could work with him.”

Yuri stares at him, betrayed. “ _And you didn’t tell me?”_ he growls, gesturing emphatically. He squeezes his forgotten coffee too hard and the lid pops off, slopping coffee all over him. Katsuki skips backward a step and shakes a few stray drops off his foot.

“Really, Yura?” he asks at the same time the bells on the door jingle. Yuri ducks down even further and flaps his hands frantically, mouthing _not here_. Katsuki’s lips twitch but he turns away obligingly. “Hello and welcome to Yuuga.” Yuri wrinkles his nose; Katsuki’s customer service voice is cloyingly sweet.

“Hi,” comes a mellow, disembodied voice from the other side of the desk. “I’m Otabek Altin, I’m an ice skater. My coach, Amina, contacted your studio about agility training earlier. Are you Yuuri Katsuki?”

“I am,” Katsuki says warmly as he holds out a hand to Otabek. _Otabek_ fucking _Altin, holy shit!_ Yuri thinks numbly as he shrinks in on himself a little more. He’s spent _years_ following the guy’s career, dreaming up scenarios in which they might meet. Now, he’s standing on the other side of the desk and here Yuri is, hiding underneath it while covered in coffee and agonizing over the fact that their very first interaction involved Yuri insulting him and then running away like a lovestruck teen. Yuri would bang his head against the desk, but that might alert Otabek to his presence.

Yuri is yanked out of his silent panic by that traitor Katsuki. “I actually focus more on the aerial and pole side these days so I’m not currently taking on any new clients. My junior instructor is, though.” Yuri kicks him indignantly but Katsuki just grunts quietly and continues like his shins aren’t turning black and blue under Yuri’s onslaught.

“I’m sorry, I thought Amina said she’d already set everything up.” Otabek sounds worried and a little off put. “No offense to your junior instructor or anything, but I kind of came here because you were supposed to have experience with training athletes and I’m not sure…”

“Oh, no need to worry about that, Yuri has tons of experience with athletes,” Katsuki says cheerfully. Yuri punches his thigh; Katsuki kicks him back. “He even used to skate! You guys will get along great.” Yuri is going to kill him, absolutely murder him. He hopes Viktor is prepared for widowhood.

Otabek is quiet for a moment. “And you’re sure you don’t have any openings?” he says hesitantly. Yuri stiffens, because what the hell? Yuri is just as good an instructor as Katsuki. Better, even. He’s the studio sweetheart; how dare Otabek doubt him? “I’d just feel more comfortable working with you.”

Okay, screw this guy. Yuri pops up from behind the desk. “Excuse you, I’m the best damn instructor this studio has ever seen.”

Otabek rears backwards, hands dropping from where they’re clenched on the edge of the front desk. His eyebrows creep upward while his eyes flick down. Yuri abruptly remembers his iced coffee situation; he fights the urge to sink back down under the desk and never reappear.

“You’ve got a little…” Otabek circles a finger at his own chest.

Yuri flushes and scowls. “Yeah, and you’ve got sunglasses on your head. Only assholes do that.”

Katsuki groans and drops his head in his hand. “Otabek, meet my junior instructor, Yuri.”

“Plisetsky,” Otabek breathes, eyes widening with sudden recognition. “Right?” he continues uncertainly when Yuri just stares at him blankly. He’s starting to blush, suave demeanor cracking for the first time. He scratches the back of his head bashfully. “Never mind, I just thought you looked like someone. Sorry.”

Yuri chokes on his tongue. He jumps to his feet. “No!” He elbows Katsuki in the ribs when he snorts behind his hand. “I mean, yes. I’m Yuri. That Yuri. You know me?”

Otabek’s blush deepens and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “You used to compete in the juniors competitions,” he says with a shrug. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows who you are. You took gold in every competition and then disappeared off the face of the earth.” A bitterness that Yuri thought he’d long put to rest wells up and his knee gives a phantom twinge.

“Yeah,” he says shortly. Awkward silence falls.

Otabek looks down at the desk’s surface, then back up with a small, genuine smile. It’s adorable. Yuri wants to die. “It’s too bad, I was looking forward to skating against you.”

Forget wanting to die, Otabek has murdered him. KO’ed. His soul has fled the building. It’s probably gone to join his dignity six feet under. “Fuck me,” he murmurs in despair.

Otabek’s brow furrows. “Sorry, what?”

Katsuki, bless his kind, pure soul, intervenes before this dumpster fire of an interaction grows any worse. “Yuri, why don’t you finish cleaning up that coffee and get changed? Otabek, I’ll show you around the studio, and then we can go to my office to talk scheduling. I’m sure I can squeeze you in somewhere.”

“Ah, actually, you don’t have to go through all that trouble. If Yuri’s okay with taking me on, I’d be okay with that.”

“Wow, such enthusiasm,” Yuri says flatly, despite the fact that his heart is hammering with excitement at the prospect of training Otabek ‘I Can’t Do A Proper Layback To Save My Life’ Altin. “I guess I can check my schedule.”

“Thanks,” Otabek says, painfully earnest.

Katsuki claps his hands and Yuri jumps. “Great! It’s settled then. Come on, Otabek.” He gestures for Otabek to follow him, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he leads him away. Yuri flips him off. He absolutely does not watch Otabek’s ass as he leaves.

 

***

 

When Yuri is four, his Deda gives him his first set of ice skates, second hand and a little too big, but nothing that can’t be resolved with multiple layers of socks. Ten months later, a man hands Deda a card while Yuri clumsily attempts to spin circles like the big kids. “He will be provided with everything he needs to succeed,” the man says, then leans in to add in a conspiratorial tone, “And the more he succeeds, the better your family will be provided for as well.” Deda politely but firmly hands the card back.

When Yuri finds out, he cries himself to sleep.

The next time they are approached, the man is gruff and to the point. “Your boy has talent. Don’t let it go to waste.” This time, Deda takes his card.

The man who recruits him is not Yakov. Yuri doesn’t meet him until he is ten and attacking his training camp lessons with all the fury and frustration of a young boy whose mother is on her third tour of the year and has seemingly forgotten she even has a child. Funneling all his emotions into his training pays off; his ballet instructor, Madame Lilia Baranovskaya notices him and in turn makes sure that her husband notices him too. On the eve of his tenth birthday he is offered a place at Yakov’s rink in St. Petersburg, home rink of the famous Viktor Nikiforov himself. It’s the best birthday gift Yuri has ever received.

When Yuri is thirteen, he wins his first gold in the Juniors level. When he is fourteen, he wins gold at every competition he skates and is bored to tears. He starts throwing quads into his programs, even though they won’t win him any points, even though Yakov shouts and threatens to drop him. He gains the attention of Viktor Nikiforov and the promise of choreography if only he’s willing to get his head out of his ass and stop doing stupid, dangerous things.

At fifteen he nearly succeeds, but nearly is not nearly enough. At fifteen, the great Viktor Nikiforov forgets his promise. At fifteen, Yuri funnels his anger into his skating and fucks up his knee doing a quad he’s not supposed to during a solo practice he’s been forbidden from. At fifteen, Yuri’s career and life are over.

At sixteen, he slouches his way into a stupidly named yoga studio under the advice of his anger management counselor, and his new life begins.

 

***

 

It takes everything Otabek has to maintain his composure and pretend he’s listening to Yuuri Katsuki instead of low key obsessing over the guy he used to high key obsess over in his teens. Going by the little smirk on Yuuri’s face, his efforts are wasted. "This is the main room, where we do the majority of our classes," he says as he gestures through the door and Otabek peeks inside. The studio is airy and full of light with large windows and floors of polished wood. The walls are sparsely decorated and Otabek is pleased to note that none of it seems like your stereotypical yoga zen type stuff. He's pretty sure the large tiger decal at the front of the room is not something you would normally see. He likes it.

Against the far wall are cubbies for people to leave their shoes and belongings as well as a shelf with all kinds of foam blocks and straps and other things he assumes are tools of the trade. No mats; he guesses students have to bring their own. There was a little merchandise area in the main lobby with mats and clothing as well, which is lucky because Otabek has never owned a yoga mat in his life.

He's not sure what reaction Yuuri is expecting, so he just nods sagely and says, "Very nice." Yuuri shoots him an amused smile.

"Mmhmm," he hums. "There's a schedule at the front with all the classes, in case you want to add in any along with your private sessions. It's also on our website and Instagram. You should really follow us, Yuri likes to post inspirational selfies of poses."

Otabek swallows hard. "Yeah, definitely," he manages. Inspirational selfies. Right. Otabek jonesed for updates or information on Yuri Plisetsky for years after he abandoned his official Instagram along with the skating world. He thought he'd overcome the addiction, but his fingers itch to get his phone out and hit follow. It's sad, really. He's sad. His family must never know.

Yuuri gestures for him to follow a little further into the studio. "This is where we hold private sessions," he says, pointing out a smaller, cozier version of the room they'd just seen. There's just barely enough room for two mats and a small cupboard, leopard print curtains over the small window dimming the room and giving it a more intimate feel. There's a tiger in this room as well in the form of a wall hanging. Otabek is sensing a theme here.

"So did you do the decorating around here?" he asks casually as Yuuri points out the restrooms. Yuuri snorts and leads them up a set of stairs at the end of the hall.

"No, that's all Yuri's doing," he says. "He's pretty much taken over the yoga side of the business so I figured it was only fair to let him redecorate however he wanted." Yuuri's chagrined look suggests that he regrets the decision. "This is my space."

Unlike the ground floor, the upstairs is one large room with high ceilings and mirrors lining one wall. The ceiling is set with beams and hooks, and there's a shelving unit that holds what looks like long brass poles. It turns out that's exactly what they are; Yuuri points and says, "They're for my pole fitness classes. They're removable so I can add or take away according to class size."

"Pole, as in...?"

"As in pole dancing, yes," Yuuri says. There's a hint of challenge in his voice. "It's a great sport, and requires grace, agility, and a lot of strength."

Otabek nods seriously. "It must be a great workout," he says.

Yuuri's shoulders relax just the tiniest bit and he smiles. "It is. You should try it sometime.."

"Uh, yeah, maybe," Otabek hedges. He's seen all the flips and splits and figures pole dancers twist themselves into. Yoga's going to be bad enough without adding a vertical element.

"Think about it, Yuri says it's great cross training for yoga," Yuuri says slyly. Otabek nearly swallows his tongue. Whatever Yuuri sees on his face, he laughs and takes pity on him. "We teach aerial arts as well. Silks, hoops, that sort of thing."

"Sounds fun," he manages to get out.

When they come back down, the lobby is no longer empty; there are a few people loitering or filtering into the main studio, dressed in yoga pants and carrying yoga mats and water bottles. A man with silvery hair and alarmingly bright blue eyes is behind the desk, greeting and checking students in. He hails them as they come over, smiling cheerfully. An equally happy smile splits Yuuri's face as he leans over the desk and kisses the man briefly. A few whistles and catcalls echo from the students still in the lobby. Yuuri blushes and waves them away. The other man looks more proud than bashful.

"This is my husband," Yuuri starts.

"Victor Nikiforov," Otabek interrupts. He flushes. His _anam_ would have him by the ear if she knew he was being so rude, but the thought of meeting the seven time Grand Prix gold winner in some random yoga studio has overloaded his sensors. Nikiforov grins hugely and leans his elbows on the front desk.

"Oooh, Otabek Altin, as I live and breathe," he carols. He looks at Yuuri, brows raised. "Does Yurotchka know he's here?"

"He does," Yuuri replies in the same teasing voice. "He's going to be giving Otabek some private lessons." Nikiforov's eyebrows climb higher and his smile turns wicked. Otabek isn't sure what conversation they are having, but it sure isn't the one coming out of their mouths. He's still stuck on the fact that Nikiforov knows who is he. First Yuri, now him... Otabek is relatively unknown; he's made it into the Grand Prix a few times but his career has mostly consisted of a long line of fourth places with only one bronze to break the pattern.

"Is that so," Nikiforov drawls, propping his chin in his hands. "Well, you are very lucky, Otabek. Our Yurotchka is very talented. And very dedicated to his students, as I'm sure you'll find out." Yuuri says something in rapid Japanese and Nikiforov laughs.

Otabek is very, very confused. "Okay? Um."

Yuuri takes pity on him. "Here's a schedule for you," he says, handing Otabek a sheet of paper from a pile on the desk. "I'd ask if you wanted to join the class going on now, but it's an advanced one. You're welcome to sit in and watch, though. I'm sure Yuri wouldn't mind."

Otabek looks behind him, through the open studio door. Yuri is on his back, legs above his head and tank top riding slowly up his stomach. "Nope, I'm good, see you later," he chokes out and flees the studio. It takes him a good five blocks to realize he'd never actually scheduled a session.

 

***

 

Otabek stares at his phone, then at the schedule he'd picked up from Yuuga, and back. He sighs and pulls up his texts.

 

**Me: Did you know when you sent me to that yoga place that Viktor Nikiforov was married to the owner?**

**Amina: Who do you think I got the recommendation from?**

**Me: Did you also know Yuri Plisetsky was an instructor there?**

**Amina: ;) You're welcome**

 

Otabek growls and throws his phone on the bed. He tromps into his kitchen and grabs his secret stash of [Chak-Chak](http://globaltableadventure.com/recipe/chak-chak/) and shoves one into his mouth. He sighs and rubs honey guiltily from his lips and drops the bag onto the counter, following it with his elbows. He drops his head in his hands and runs them through his hair, puffing out his cheeks. "I hate my coach," he mutters to the Formica. His cat Pahpya jumps up onto the counter next to him and sticks her nose in the bag. He pushes her away with a quiet reprimand, and eats another _Chak-Chak_ defiantly, letting the taste of home coat his tongue. He's being pathetic. It's just some guy from his past. Not even his past; he'd met Yuri once when he was twelve and now here he is eleven years later, still _acting_ twelve. He puts the bag of treats back into the deepest recesses of his highest cupboard before dragging his sorry ass back to the bedroom to retrieve his phone and the schedule.

 

**Me: I hate you so much**

**Amina: :(**

 

Taking one last fortifying breath, Otabek quickly punches in the studio phone number written at the top and listens anxiously to the ringing. It picks up on the third ring.

"Hello, thank you for calling Yuuga Yoga Studio, this is Yuuri. How can I help you today?" Otabek slumps, both relieved and disappointed that it's not Yuri on the other side of the line. "Hello?" Yuuri asks hesitantly. Otabek starts and coughs to clear his throat.

"Sorry, uh, this is Otabek. Altin?" God, he sounds like an idiot. He hates phones. Even without the prospect of talking to a childhood quasi-obsession, phone calls create an inexplicable hollow of anxiety in his stomach.

"Good to hear from you," Yuuri says warmly, smoothly ignoring Otabek’s nervous babbling. "I'm guessing you're calling to set up a session?"

"Yeah. I forgot to yesterday when I was," _-running away-_ "rushing to meet someone."

There's a rustling of paper on the other end. "Sure, sure, of course," Yuuri says, distracted. "Let me just pull up the schedule." More rustling. Is he using a paper schedule book? _Old school._ "Okay, let's see..."

A voice in the background asks, "Who's that, Katsu?" Otabek's stomach jumps as he recognizes the voice. Yuri.

Yuuri's voice is muffled as he says, "Otabek." Yuuri draws the name out teasingly. Yuri squawks and there's the sound of a tussle before Yuri's slightly breathless voice comes on the line.

"Otabek, hey, how are you?"

Otabek fights the urge to chuckle. Maybe he's not the only eager one here. "I'm good," he says as he turns to sit on the edge of his bed. "How are you?"

"Good." There's an awkward pause. In the background, Yuuri says something that sounds like, 'Oh for God's sake'. It breaks the moment.

"So, I needed to schedule a session?" Otabek blurts. His cheeks heat up, even though no one is there to see him. This is getting ridiculous, honestly; if his siblings saw him like this, he’d never live it down.

"Right," Yuri says. There's more rustling, then the click of computer keys. Apparently he's not as old fashioned as Yuuri is. "When do you want to come in?" It takes a few minutes of back and forth, but they finally manage to find a time that works for both their schedules. "So I guess I'll see you in a couple days?" Yuri asks. Otabek wonders if he's imagining the hopeful tone in Yuri's voice. Probably.

"Yeah." They hang up. Pahpya pushes her way onto his lap and butts her head against his hand, demanding to be pet. "That didn't go too badly," he tells her. She puts her front paws on  his chest and meows reassuringly into his face. Her breath smells like the meat flavored toothpaste he uses to brush her teeth. He sighs and nuzzles her. "Totally fine. Good even." She meows again. "Oh shut up." She bats his nose and jumps off his lap, leaving him to his lies.

 

***

 

Yuri finds himself counting down the hours to his first session with Otabek. He's distracted during his classes, enough so that one of the mothers in his Mommy and Me class actually approaches him after class. "Hi Yuri." He looks up from where he's gathering the yoga blocks he'd cut in half for the kids.

"Nastya," he says wearily, then slightly more warmly to the toddler on her hip, "Oskar." Oskar waves at him shyly.

"So, I can't help but notice you were a bit off your game," Nastya says. She puts a hand on his forearm. "I hope you aren't getting sick." The hold on his arm turns into a caress that toes the line between comforting and flirtatious. Yuri counts to three, reminds himself that she is a student and that Katsuki doesn't appreciate it when he offends the students, and forces a stiff smile on his face. He subtly pulls away under the pretense of picking up another foam block, careful to angle away from her when he bends over.

"I'm fine, just a little distracted," he tells her. She hums contemplatively, then flicks her eyes over his shoulder. He glances over as well. Otabek is standing in the doorway, watching them with a slightly glazed look. Otabek blinks and shakes his head a little as he straightens.

"Hey," he says. "Sorry, I'm a little early." He looks back and forth between Yuri and Nastya.

"Ohhh," Nastya says under her breath. Her assessing gaze is appreciative. Yuri scowls at her but she just smirks. "Distracted." She pats him on the shoulder. "Well, I'll just leave you to your next appointment, then." She flounces out of the studio, hips swaying more than necessary, in Yuri's opinion. She pauses by Otabek as he moves out of her way and says something to him too quietly for Yuri to hear, but whatever it is makes him turn bright red and look away awkwardly. "Bye Yuri!" she calls with a wave over her shoulder. Yuri scowls and flips off her departing back.

Yuri loves the kids he works with. He hates the Mommies.

Otabek snorts at his antics as he enters the room. He gestures around him. "Can I help with anything?" Yuri sighs and looks down at the blocks in his arms. He usually schedules at least fifteen minutes between his sessions but between the Mommies and Me class running over a little and Otabek being early, he hasn't had time to disinfect them. He'll have to do it later.

"No, it's fine," he says. Otabek frowns.

"Really, I don't mind," he says and steps a little closer. "I'm early, and I interrupted. Let me help." Yuri stares at him. Otabek's eyebrows twitch upwards a fraction.

Yuri relents. If Otabek wants to wipe kiddie sweat off foam blocks, Yuri won't deprive him. "I need to disinfect these," he says, gesturing to the ones in his arms. Otabek holds his hands out and takes some from him. They work in slightly awkward silence as they sit wiping down the blocks with microfiber cloths and a water/alcohol mix. It will eventually break down the foam, but he prefers to buy new blocks every couple months than deal with the germs and nastiness they inevitably absorb.

He feels Otabek's eyes on him occasionally, but whenever he looks up, he's staring studiously at the block in his hands. Twice, he inhales like he's going to say something, but the words never come. Yuri knows the feeling; small talk seems beyond him at the moment. It only takes them a few minutes to finish, but by the time they finish, he's ready to scream or possibly go home and hide under his blankets until he figures out how to be slightly less of a disaster.

As they stack blocks against the wall, Otabek breathes in again, but this time he says, "I like your hair."

Yuri's hand comes up automatically to touch the shaved side of his head, peeking out from under his long hair now that he has it pulled back for classes. He'd made Mila shave it and dye it with cheetah spots on a whim one night, both of them more than a little drunk on cheap vodka. The result was a mess, but there'd been enough promise that once it had grown enough, he'd had her do it again, properly this time. It's a lot of upkeep, and a lot of work for Mila, but she maintains that the traffic she gains to her salon due to his instagram posts and personal recommendations is more than worth it.

"Thanks," he says, dropping his hand. "I like your..." he looks Otabek up and down and doesn't know how to finish that sentence. Honestly, it's hard enough not to wince at the holey gray sweatpants with elastic cuffs a good inch too far from his ankles. He’s topped it off with a bright orange tee-shirt that looks like one of those promotional ones Yuri remembers being hocked by timeshare promoters at skating competitions. _Please, God, don't let him have a timeshare,_ Yuri thinks. _I don't have time to plan a funeral for my respect and admiration._ He's even wearing the ultimate fashion faux pas: socks and sandals. Otabek has managed to find the ugliest possible combination of workout clothes, and then for some godforsaken reason decided wearing them was a good idea. How Yuri hasn't noticed until now makes him wonder if he needs to make an appointment with the ophthalmologist.

Yuri gives up on trying to find something to compliment. _Other than his face_ , his brain supplies. Yuri is not one for tact and a pretty face and skating crush are not enough to change that. "Actually, no, there is nothing that I like about...that." He gestures at the ensemble and cocks an unimpressed eyebrow. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

Otabek looks down at himself, then shrugs. "Workout clothes," he says in a monotone; the smirk hiding in one corner of his mouth gives away his amusement. Yuri wrinkles his nose in disgust.

"Those aren't clothes, they're a travesty," Yuri tells him firmly. The smirk disappears and Yuri briefly feels bad, but it's for Otabek's good, really. He'd gone _out_ looking like that. In _public._ "Sorry, but this isn’t some muscle-head gym. We have standards. Dress codes.”

“False," Katsuki butts his big head into the studio and into the conversation. "Hi, Otabek." Otabek gives him a two fingered wave.

“...it’s still in beta mode. I’m working on it,” Yuri snaps. Katsuki rolls his eyes and disappears again. "You need real clothes. Yoga clothes, Otabek."

Otabek lets out half a laugh, incredulously. "Are you serious?" Yuri stares him down. "You're actually serious." Yuri nods. Otabek's brow furrows and he crosses his arms, the first signs of irritation showing. "I don't have yoga clothes."

Yuri shrugs and smiles sweetly. "You can always buy some out in the lobby," he suggests.

Otabek purses his lips. "I'm not buying new clothes just because a guy wearing leopard print leggings and a _Get Down, Dog_ tank top doesn't like my fashion choices," he says flatly.

Yuri blows out a frustrated breath. "Excuse you, my outfit kicks ass and is completely situation appropriate, unlike your crime against fashion," he says. He tucks an errant lock of hair behind his ear and tries to explain. "Look, I need to be able to correct your form so you can get the most out of each position, and so you don't accidentally injure yourself. To do that, I need to be able to _see_ your form." Otabek bites his lip and his mulish stance relaxes slightly. In the spirit of good faith, Yuri compromises. "You can wear that today, but please, could you pick something up that's just a _little_ more form fitting?"

"You sure you don't just want to see me in something tight?" Otabek teases.

Yuri flushes bright red, mortified. "No!" he snaps quickly and turns away before he can see Otabek's reaction. "Come on, we're running behind and I have a class after this," he says. He doesn't, but anything to change the subject right now is welcome.

"Of course, sorry," Otabek says in an odd voice. Yuri tries not to analyze it as they move to the private studio.

 

***

 

Otabek lets his face fall into his customary Resting Bitch Face, according to his brother Temir, as he follows Yuri into the adjoining room. If he didn't, he'd probably be scowling right now. Nothing like being ridiculed for his appearance to kill any remaining hero worship he might have felt. _Not true,_ a tiny part of his brain whispers. It's the same part that couldn't tear his eyes away from Yuri's ass while he was bent over, despite the knowing gaze of the woman Yuri was talking to. The same part that blushed but couldn't help but agree when she whispered, "Don't worry honey, we all share your thirst. Welcome to the club."

Still, being told to change your clothes brings back memories of primary school and always wearing the wrong thing. Especially when it's coming from someone dressed as unironically tacky as Yuri is. Logically, he knows Yuri has a point about being able to see his form; emotionally, he's tempted to wear the ugliest possible thing he can, just to annoy him.

"You can set your mat out on that side," Yuri says, pointing towards one end of the small room, just under the window. "We're mostly going to be testing your flexibility and agility today to get a baseline." Otabek rolls out the cheap yoga mat he'd purchased where Yuri had indicated. "I'm assuming you know how to warm up your muscles, right?"

Otabek rolls his eyes. "Yes." He starts his normal warmup routine, ignoring the way Yuri's eyes never leave him, gaze cool and assessing. He's used to being watched. Once his muscles are warm and blood flowing, Yuri runs him through the basic stretches he's used to. Or, at least he thought he knew them. Apparently he's been doing all of them wrong his entire life.

"You need to keep your back straight and hips over your feet," Yuri tells him as Otabek attempts to touch the floor. "If you round your back like that, you're stretching tendons, not muscles." Yuri places one hand on the small of Otabek's back and the other against his sternum, straightening out his spine. "Engage your core." The touch is more intimate that Otabek is used to from instructors, but the clinical, detached voice is not. It helps keep his mind off Yuri's hands.

Also helpful in keeping his mind out of the gutter: when he's doing the stretch 'properly', he's appalled by the fact that the tips of his fingers easily hang a good two or three inches from the ground. Yuri confirms it as he pulls out a measuring tape and then snaps a progress picture. This is pathetic, even for him.

Yuri seems to sense his discouragement because he raises his eyebrows and gives Otabek a small smile. "Don't pout, this is actually better than what I was expecting, based on your skate programs. We'll have your palms to the floor in no time. Now, stop being a wimp, I know you can go a little further than this." Otabek very much doubts that. He grits his teeth. _Never meet your heroes_ , he thinks grimly. He stretches just a little further and immediately regrets it as his hamstrings cry out in agony. He huffs out a breath and releases the stretch.

"What next," he grits out, keeping his tone expressionless. Yuri raises an eyebrow and smiles.

"Splits," he decides.

Otabek hates the splits. He feels like he's _going_ to split every time he tries. He won't complain though. At this point it's a matter of pride.

"Front or side," he says instead.

"Both. And then some back bends."

Otabek can't quite hold back his groan. Never. Meet. Your heroes.

 

***

 

Otabek can't hold back a whimper as he bends over to take off his shoes. “I can’t do this, why are you making me do this?” he moans to Amina.

“Because you are never going to get beyond a bronze without increasing your flexibility. We’ve talked about this, Otabek.”

He limps towards his room. He skates for hours, completes brutal workouts multiple times a week. None of them have left him feeling so wrung out and pathetic. “Yeah, but-” She cuts him off.

“Nope, you agreed to this. Your exact words were ‘as long as it’s not ballet, I don’t care’. And it’s not ballet.”

“No, it’s worse.” Otabek groans and falls back onto his bed, wincing as his abdominals pull and his back twinges. He's being a child. He doesn't care; he'd kick his legs like a child too, if he could.

Amina sighs heavily. “Look, if you really don’t want to continue, I can’t make you, but I’ve never known you to be a quitter.” Amina is the type of coach who says, _I'm not angry, I'm just disappointed._ Otabek is the type of person it works best on. He wilts a little.

Otabek thinks of Yuri. Of his small satisfied smirk when Otabek’s fingers crept just a few centimeters further towards his toes. Of the warmth of his hands on Otabek’s lower back as Yuri supported his bridge. “No,” he says, running a hand over his face roughly. “It’s only been one lesson. I’ll give it a while longer.”

“Good boy.”

Otabek hates everything.

 

***

 

Yuri realizes three things when Otabek walks into his beginner's Yoga class on Monday morning.

1) Otabek is not one to give up. He'd been a bit worried he'd never see him again after their first session.

2) He is also an vindictive little shit. Yuri's mouth drops as he takes in Otabek; his neon green Underarmour shirt clashes horrendously with red, polka dotted leggings. He's wearing an orange sweatband and matching armbands.  Yuri isn't exactly known for his fashion sense, even if it has improved somewhat from his unfortunate youth, but this is just cruel and unusual punishment. Yuri's soul dies a little inside. Otabek can't quite hide his smug little grin as he gestures at his body. "Better?" he asks drolly.

3) Yuri is not going to survive this. He's met his match.

"Well, I can definitely see your form," he manages weakly. Otabek's smirk turns satisfied. He gives Yuri a thumbs up, then saunters to the back of the studio and unrolls his baby pink yoga mat. _What happened to the black one?_ Yuri wonders in despair.

Otabek gets a few odd looks from the other students as they come in, but if it bothers him, he hides it well. And that's the part that really kills Yuri, because Otabek's confidence is really fucking sexy, and no man dressed in neon and ladybug print should ever look sexy. It's a crime. Otabek belongs in jail. This isn't _fair._

It takes Yuri three tries and a gulp of water to get his throat to start working, so he can get this over with.

 

***

 

If Yuri's private session had been bad, trying to do actual yoga just two days after his muscles had been stretched like taffy was the absolute worst. Otabek _knows_ he's not very flexible, okay? But he's not _this_ bad. Each move makes his muscles scream and he finds himself backing out of the stretch instinctually. He's not even hitting his normal range of motion at this point. Otabek grits his teeth and pushes back into his downward dog. _You fight through pain every damn day, Altin,_ he thinks as he forces his heels into the ground. _You can do this._

He feels a familiar hand on his back. "Don't force yourself beyond what you can manage," Yuri says quietly. He's been wandering around the class, checking and fixing students' form as he needs. Most of the people in the class aren't rank beginners like he is and don't really need Yuri to do the poses with them. It's annoying and frustrating, because when Yuri calls out a pose, the rest of them immediately move into it while Otabek is left staring blankly and trying to imitate what the others are doing. Apparently he's not imitating them very well because Yuri keeps coming over. "Don't worry if your heels don't touch the floor. There's no point if you're rounding your back." _Gee, where does that advice sound familiar,_ he thinks sarcastically, but he lets his heels raise up a little. Yuri's hand moves to his lower back. "Rock forward and put a little more weight on your hands. Press your hips up towards the ceiling so your back straightens." Otabek does as he says, and has to admit he's not quite in so much agony. "Good, now press through your fingers and roll your shoulders and arms outward and back." A hand on his upper back. "Try to squeeze my hand with your shoulder blades."

"Yuri?" Yuri jumps when one of the other students says his name. It startles Otabek and he falls out of the pose to his knees with a grunt. His face flames red as he realizes the other students are watching them with varying stages of annoyance and curiosity.

Yuri laughs awkwardly. "Sorry, guys, you know what it's like your first time. Let's move into Box pose. When you're ready, alternate between Cat and Cow."

"Then maybe he should have gone to the beginners class," one particularly salty man mutters.

Otabek rolls onto his back, done with everything. "To be fair, I thought this _was_ the beginner's class," he says loud enough to be heard by the man, as well as those around them. Yuri snorts, amused, as some of the others snicker.

"Beginners two," Yuri corrects him. "Beginners one is on Tuesday."

Otabek covers his face with his hands under the pretense of wiping sweat from his face. "Right then," he mutters and rolls up to a sitting position. "I'm just gonna..." he gestures at the door.

"Stay," Yuri says. He puts a hand on his shoulder, like that could stop Otabek from escaping. "It happens literally all the time. And anyways, I wanted to talk to you about something." Otabek hesitates, eyeing the door longingly. He's pretty sure he's had enough humiliation in this place to last him a lifetime. Yuri sighs. "Or I guess you could go bother Katsuki until we finish up."

"I'll take door number two," Otabek mutters, feeling a bit like a coward. "I wanted to ask him something, anyway."

Yuri huffs out a quiet laugh and claps him on the shoulder. "He's probably upstairs." He stands and goes back to the front of the classroom, leaving Otabek to make his escape.

 

***

 

Yuuri is, in fact, upstairs. More than that, he's up in the air, swaddled and held up by fabric. As Otabek watches, he lets go and tumbles down as the fabric unravels from his midsection. An involuntary sound burbles up from Otabek's throat and he steps forward in alarm. He doesn't get very far before Yuuri comes to an abrupt stop a few feet from the ground. "What the _hell?_ " Otabek says.

Yuuri yelps and spins himself towards Otabek. "Otabek," he says, breathless, as he sets his feet on the ground and unravels the rest of the fabric. "I didn't see you there. Sorry to startle you." He scratches one cheek sheepishly. Then, his face spasms and contorts as he actually looks at Otabek. "What are you _wearing?_ " he asks, mystified.

Otabek looks down at himself. In the rush of watching Yuuri seemingly plummet to his death, he'd completely forgotten his apparel, and the entire reason he'd gone searching for Yuuri in the first place. He plucks at his shirt wryly. "Yeah," he drawls. "About that."

Yuuri chuckles. "You two are made for each other," he tells him, shaking his head.

Otabek bites his cheek and chooses to ignore that. "I'd like to buy some stuff from your store." The outfit, and Yuri's reaction to it, had been more than worth the money wasted on clothes he will never wear again, but not the dignity.

"No problem," Yuuri says; he pads past him and slips on a pair of sandals. "Come on." He leads Otabek back downstairs and over to the racks of exercise clothes. "Something a little more subdued, perhaps?" he suggests. He holds out a couple pairs of leggings, one in dark blue and the other in black. "These are probably your size, but if you want to try them on, you can go into the bathroom." Otabek glances back at the group studio and shakes his head. Just because he's buying them doesn't mean he wants Yuri witnessing his surrender. "Did you need any shirts or anything? You can probably just wear your own, as long as they aren't the size of a circus tent."

Otabek rolls his eyes at the good-natured teasing. "I think I'm good." He pays for the pants and ignores Yuuri's look as he rolls the bag up inside his yoga mat. He's just in time; people start to filter out of the classroom behind him, some chatting, some already falling back into their cellphones. The man who'd bitched at him in class fixes Otabek with a narrow eyed look; Otabek gives him a little wave. The man scowls and pushes through the front door in a huff.

"Looks like you made a friend," Yuuri comments from where he's currently leaning his forearms against the front desk. Otabek doesn't answer, distracted as Yuri finally appears, the last one out of the room. He catches sight of Yuuri and Otabek relaxing at the counter and makes his way over to them.

"I just need to finish cleaning up, and then I can take over front desk," he tells Yuuri. Yuuri shrugs.

"Take your time," he says, and turns away, effectively dismissing them both.

Yuri looks at Otabek, one eyebrow raised. "Feel like helping again?" he asks. Otabek shrugs and follows him back into the studio once more. Yuri hands him a cloth and spray bottle. "So I was thinking," he says as they work. Otabek looks up warily. Yuri's tone is a little _too_ offhand. Yuri must see his skepticism, because he sticks his tongue out at him before continuing. "Have you ever heard of pairs yoga?"

Otabek looks down at the block he's wiping to hide his expression. "Like...couples yoga?" he asks. Yuri fumbles his block and just barely manages to avoid dropping it.

"What? No! I mean, yes, couples can do it too, but you don't have to be together to do pairs," he hurries to explain. "You saw the end of my Mommy and Me class, right?" Otabek nods. He hadn't actually seen any of the class itself, but he thinks he understands where Yuri is going with this. "Right, so that is also pairs. It's just altered to be kid friendly."

"Are you saying you want to do pairs yoga with me, Yura?" Yuri's head snaps up, eyes wide. Otabek mentally rewinds his words and then has to resist smacking himself in the forehead. _Flirt_ and _use his diminutive in the same sentence, great plan. Real smooth._ He backtracks a little. "Sorry, I didn't mean to just..." He trails off and Yuri smiles.

"It's fine," he says. "I don't mind."

Otabek bites his lip. "You can call me Beka," he blurts, and can't hide his wince. "If you want. My family calls me that. And friends. Friends too." He's babbling. He needs to stop babbling. How in hell does Yuri manage to turn him into a disaster every time? This isn't him; he's good at this kind of thing. Flirting, asking people out. Dating. And yet, Yuri somehow turns him back into a primary school kid asking someone to the school dance.

"Wow, this is really awkward," Yuuri says from the entryway. "How are you two this bad? Even Viktor and I weren't this bad."

Yuri scowls fiercely at him. "You and Viktor were a thousand times worse, shut up." Yuuri shrugs, unconcerned.

"Are you two done being awkward turtles? Because my students are going to be showing up soon, and I still need to get the rest of the silks hooked up."

"Way to reference ancient ass memes, old man," Yuri mutters. Otabek nods in solidarity. "So, pairs yoga?" Yuri asks, redirecting to the original conversation.

Otabek hesitates. "I'm not even doing so well with regular yoga," he hedges, "I'm not sure adding in another person is going to make things any better."

"Actually, Yura's right, pairs might be a good option for you Otabek," Yuuri says. "It involves a fair amount of strength, but generally the actual poses aren't that much harder than normal. That's why we do it with the kids. It would probably be even more useful, cross training wise. Besides," Yuuri's smile turns devilish, "It's much more hands on."

"I am going to kick you," Yuri growls. He advances on Yuuri threateningly. Yuuri just laughs and backs up, hands up. Otabek speaks up in order to prevent the impending violence.

"I guess we can try it."

Yuri turns back around, vengeance forgotten. "Cool, great. We can start with our next session, then. See you Thursday?"

Otabek smiles; he hands over the cleaning supplies still in his hands, and if their fingers brush a little in the exchange, well, he can write it off to an accident. "See you Thursday. Yura."

He barely stutters over the diminutive. He's so proud of himself. He makes his getaway while he's still ahead, but not before he hears Yuri yell, "Bye, Beka!" It keeps an absurd little smile on his face the entire way home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Yuuri and Viktor are evil and Otabek is a hopeless case, but Yuri is worse.
> 
> There are links throughout this chapter of various yoga poses, in case you get curious. 
> 
> Updates will be every other day. Come join me on Tumblr at [disasterbek-altin](https://disasterbek-altin.tumblr.com). We can geek out together about these beautiful idiot boys.

Yuri heaves out a happy sigh when Otabek walks in wearing a plain black tee shirt and a simple pair of blue leggings Yuri recognizes from their shop. Otabek must hear his relief because he rolls his eyes but doesn't comment. "So how are we doing this," he asks as he unrolls his mat and sets it out on the floor.

"We'll start out easy," Yuri says as he starts to run through his warm ups and Otabek follows suit. "Very basic moves to get you used to the concept." He pauses a moment, then continues with a casualness he doesn't feel. "Pairs yoga involves a lot of touching, which means we're going to need to get comfortable being in close contact with each other." He peeks over at Otabek under the guise of a torso twist; he has a small grimace on his face and his eyes are on the floor as he stretches out one deltoid. Yuri's stomach sinks. "If you don't feel comfortable with that, I totally understand though. We can just stick to normal lessons, no big deal."

Otabek snaps his gaze up to Yuri's, looking confused. "What?"

Yuri gestures between them. "I just mean, you don't look very excited right now. I don't want to, like, disrespect your personal space or -"

"Yura," Otabek interrupts with a small, fond smile. "It's fine. I just took a fall yesterday in practice and my elbow's still a little sore."

Yuri frowns, concerned. "Are you okay? If you're injured, we can always wait." He realizes it's the wrong thing to say as a mulish look crosses Otabek's face, which he would have known if he’d taken more than two seconds worth of thought before speaking.

"Did _you_ wait every time you had a minor ache or pain?" Otabek asks pointedly.

Yuri's knee twinges. "Maybe I should have," he mutters, then in a louder voice, "Fine, fine, whatever. Let's get started then. Sit down, cross legged, back to me." Otabek follows his directions easily. _At least he has good posture,_ Yuri thinks as he sits down back to back. Otabek is warm against his perpetually cool skin and he shivers involuntarily. Otabek shifts; Yuri barrels on rather than give him a chance to comment. "Okay, for this one, we're going to do a torso twist to the left, one hand on the knee you're facing and the other one on mine for leverage to deepen the stretch." He [demonstrates](https://imgur.com/7El9sHr) as he's talking.

"Sounds easy enough," Otabek says and copies him. His hand is like a furnace on his thigh. Yuri ignores it.

"Deep breath in through your nose and out through the mouth and hold for four breaths." Yuri guides him into the next [pose](https://imgur.com/EsQmhs3), linking arms and bending over his legs so Otabek arches his back on top of him, then vice versa. Otabek grunts a little as Yuri pulls firmly. "Okay?" he checks in.

Otabek breathes out a small laugh. "I'm fine, but your bony spine is digging into mine. I'm going to have to start bringing you sandwiches or something, get some weight on you."

Yuri huffs. "Thanks, _baba_ ," he snarks, but sits back up and adjusts just a little so they aren't spine on spine anymore. "And I am all muscle, thanks. Now press firmly up against me, we're going to use each other's body weight to stand."

"You sure your scrawny body can handle my weight?" Yuri responds by pushing hard up against his back. Otabek wheezes as he's pushed flat. Yuri plants his feet under him and arches into a standing backbend before hauling Otabek up by their linked arms. His abs scream, but it's worth it for the small, surprised sound Otabek makes.

"What was that?" Yuri asks sweetly as he unhooks their arms and faces him. Otabek has a look of grudging respect on his face.

"I stand corrected," he says with a soft smile. Yuri does not blush. Not even a little.

"Alright, next is the [double tree pose](https://imgur.com/UzSNGdR)," he says, and demonstrates.

It becomes obvious as they continue that Otabek's main issue lays in his back. His hamstrings and hip flexors are tight as well, but that will get better over time.  But when Yuri gets him into [cat/cow pose](https://media.giphy.com/media/11I6NFdoQhYGpq/giphy.gif), he can see that Otabek's range of motion in his lower back is significantly less than it should be, even for a non-skater.

"Have you ever injured your back?" he asks. Otabek pauses, then pushes back onto his heels.

"I fell off a horse when I was little, had a small fracture in one of my vertebrae," he says. Yuri winces. "I didn't need surgery or anything, but I guess maybe that could have a bit of an effect on my flexibility."

Yuri stares at him incredulously. "No, couldn’t possibly," he drawls sarcastically. "Why didn't you tell me this?" Otabek shrugs diffidently. It makes Yuri want to strangle him.

"I didn't think about it. I was five, and it's completely healed. The muscles get stiff sometimes, no big deal."

Yuri purses his lips and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, sure, you broke your back but no big deal." He continues before Otabek can reply. "Any other injuries I should know about?"

Otabek sighs. "Well, when I was four I fell and bruised my elbow. And I scraped up my knees at least once a week the summer I was six from skateboarding..." Yuri flaps his hands, exasperated.

"Okay, okay, I get it. No need to be an asshole just because I want to make sure we're safe."

Otabek has the decency to look chagrined. "Sorry, you're right. No other major injuries, I promise. I've been lucky."

Mollified, Yuri drops the subject. "We're going to have to do some extra work with the back, then," he says as he kneels behind Otabek and lifts his shirt to inspect his muscles. Otabek makes a choking sound and freezes; Yuri does too, when he realizes exactly what he's doing. He has spent way too much time with The Wonder Couple if he's lost sight of personal boundaries this badly. Yuri drops the shirt like a coal. "Shit, sorry.” Then his mind processes what he'd just seen. "Wait, you have a tattoo?" Otabek spins; his face looks like someone had splashed it with red paint. Yuri smirks. "Correction, you have a _tramp stamp_?"

Otabek groans and drops his head into his hands. "Shut up."

Yuri laughs. "And here I thought JJ Ledouche was the only one that trashy." Otabek mumbles something into his hands. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Otabek sighs and drops his hands. On the surface he looks annoyed, but the small, resigned smile creeping onto his lips gives him away. At least Yuri hopes it does; they don't actually know each other very well yet. "I said I got it _with_ JJ. There may or may not have been a bet involved." Yuri snorts.

"I'm not even going to ask. Can I see it again?" Otabek hesitates a moment before nodding and turning around. He lifts up his shirt so Yuri can inspect it. It's actually quite beautiful, and definitely not deserving of the name tramp stamp. Spread across the small of his back is the eagle from Kazahkstan's flag. Random splotches and streaks like splattered paint color the background with teal and gold. Whoever did the work was talented. Without thinking, Yuri reaches out again but pauses, fingers hovering. He drops his hand and crosses his arm instead. "Okay, I guess that's a little better than tattooing your own initials like a complete asshat."

Otabek laughs warmly and drops his shirt again. "So are we going to keep going, or...?"

"Hah!" Yuri barks out. "You wish we were done. No, we're going to do [twin warrior pose](https://imgur.com/QVbsUOs) next."

They work through the rest of Yuri's planned poses, ending with a [Front Corpse](http://www.pocketyoga.com/Pose/corpse_front). "I like this one," Otabek says to the floor he's sprawled out on.

Yuri snorts, but says, "Focus on your breathing," like a good instructor should. Otabek grumbles, but takes a deliberate breath. Yuri lets himself float in the calm that comes over him. This is the reason his sixteen-year-old self had stayed; he rarely feels this peaceful outside of the yoga studio. Finally, he lets out a sigh and rolls to a sitting position to check the clock. They still have a few minutes left in the hour. He grins. "Hey, wanna try out a fun one?"

Otabek pushes himself up onto his elbows and regards him. Proper form for [half cobra pose](https://imgur.com/uNmb0R2), Yuri notes with satisfaction.  "What do you mean by fun one?" Otabek asks warily.

Yuri rolls his eyes.  "Where's the trust?" he teases. Otabek raises an eyebrow; Yuri continues hastily. "I just mean one that looks cool. Don't worry, no major contorting on your part."

Otabek thinks for a moment, then shrugs. "Sure," he agrees. Yuri guides him to lay flat on his back, knees pulled to his chest and feet flexed. Yuri backs up and presses his hips and low back against his feet,

"Okay, ready to straighten?" he asks, looking over his shoulder. Otabek looks uneasy, but nods. "Don't worry, all you need to do is keep your legs straight and don't let them move. Don't forget to engage your core and press into the floor, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah," Otabek says with false bravado. "You're putting an awful lot of faith in my strength."

Yuri reaches down to pat one very well muscled thigh, then grabs hold of his shins. "I think you'll be fine. Now straighten." Otabek follows his instruction, slowly pressing upward and lifting Yuri.

"You're heavier than you look," Otabek says, voice just slightly strained.

"Are you okay?" Yuri asks. Otabek grunts agreement. "Well then fuck off." He hooks his feet around Otabek's legs, holds onto his own thighs, and bends all the way backwards until he's staring upside down at Otabek. Their faces are less than six inches apart; perhaps Yuri should have thought this out a little more. "Hi," he says, for lack of anything better to say.

Otabek stares at him, wide-eyed. "You..." he breathes, "How are you even _doing_ that?" His eyes flick over Yuri's bent body in disbelief. Yuri preens under the attention.

"This is nothing," he says, just a little bit smug. "My feet aren't even touching my head. I can do it facing you too, but that takes a little more balancing on your part as well and I don't trust you _that_ much. Yet."

Otabek blinks, eyes glazing over just a little as he apparently imagines what that might look like. His face goes a little red again, probably from the strain of holding Yuri in the air, but then he blows out a breath that moves the hair falling free around Yuri's face and smiles warmly at him. "You're kind of amazing," he says, then continues like he hadn't just complimented Yuri, "Can we get a picture of this? My brother won't believe me."

"Uh," Yuri says, still stuck on the ‘amazing’ thing.

Otabek seems to misunderstand Yuri's brain crash moment for hesitation. "Ah, that probably would have been a better question to ask _before_ we did this, huh? Maybe next time."

Yuri panics. "No! We can..." He takes a deep breath and yells, "Katsuki!" at the top of his lungs.

Otabek gives him an unimpressed look. He raises his head, bringing their faces even closer together. "Really? Right in my face?" Yuri would shrug if it wouldn't throw their balance off. He settles for sticking his tongue out. Otabek crosses his eyes in return.

"Do _not_ make me laugh, " Yuri warns. "It won't end well for either of us."

"Yura, how many times am I going to have to tell you not to -" Katsuki cuts himself off as he comes in and sees them. "Yuri," he reprimands, crossing his arms.

Yuri interrupts before Katsuki can continue his lecture. "Can you take a picture?" Katsuki heaves a sigh but pulls his phone out of his pocket and snaps a few pictures from different angles. Under him, Otabek's legs are starting to tremble, and Yuri is starting to feel the strain from staying in such an extreme position for so long. He pulls out of the pose slowly, grateful for Otabek's supporting hands on his shoulders, then helps Otabek up as well. He ignores the twinge in his lower back. He really, really needs to start going to those conditioning classes Katsuki has been hounding him about. "I think that's about it for today, yeah?"

Otabek glances at the clock and grimaces. "Yeah, I'm going to be late for ice time if I don't hurry." Yuri winces; the man is insane if he thinks scheduling ice time after his session here is a good idea. Otabek seems to come to the same conclusion as he rubs one quad. "That's going to be fun. But hey, at least I've got a good excuse for being late, right?" He gathers his stuff quickly. "See you later?"

"Yeah, definitely." Yuri follows him out, Katsuki close behind.

"So," Katsuki says with a hint of amusement, "Want some ice for your back?"

Yuri rubs his lower back and nods. "God, yes please."

Katsuki shakes his head. " _Baka,_ " he says fondly, but claps him on the shoulder and heads towards the staff room. Yuri doesn't even have the heart to argue. He really is an idiot.

 

***

  
Otabek lays in his bed that night scrolling through Yuri's Instagram and trying to ignore his aching body. Pahpya curls around his head like a hat; she's making him way too warm, but he doesn't have the heart to push her off. "What do you think of this one?" he asks her, tilting his phone towards her. She purrs, the same response she'd given to the half dozen other pictures of Yuri doing pairs poses with various other partners. He ignores the stupid part of him that finds itself irrationally jealous. "Yeah, me too." He screenshots it rather than hit the heart because by this point he's at least a year back into his timeline and he has no desire to look as obsessed as he absolutely is.

As he continues his scrolling, a notification pops up that Yuri had posted another picture. He goes to it with a rather pathetic eagerness and smiles when he sees it's the picture Yuuri had taken earlier that day. The caption reads, _@otabek-altin next time you'll be the one on top._ Otabek groans and scrubs at his face. There is no possible way Yuri isn't aware of just how suggestive that is. And even if he hadn't been, the dozen plus comments make it pretty explicitly clear. Otabek tilts his head back so he can rub his forehead and nose against Pahpya's soft belly. "Pahpya, I think he's trying to kill me," he complains into her fur. The cat meows at him and pushes at his face with one back paw. Otabek makes a face but pulls away before the claws come out. "Yeah, okay, I know."  
  
He stares at the picture again, taking note of the tiny details. How Yuri is grinning, open mouthed and eyes shining. Otabek's own smile crinkles his nose and is impossibly, embarrassingly smitten. It's not the same one he'd sent Temir; he'd very purposely sent one that didn't show their faces because Temir would recognize that look and never let him live it down. Also, his family doesn't know yet that his instructor is the infamous Yuri Plisetsky. He'd prefer to put that particular round of teasing off for as long as he can.  
  
Otabek is hit with a sudden burst of bravery and sits up as he likes the picture, then hunches over his phone and types out, _@yuugayoga-yuri I think I prefer to stay on the bottom, thanks_ and hits send before his more rational side can argue.

  
  
He regrets it almost immediately. With a small whimper, he flops back onto his bed, arms flung wide, and ponders every questionable decision that has led to this moment. Pahpya licks his forehead consolingly. “You are the only good choice I’ve ever made,” he tells her. He startles as his phone buzzes and pings out a text notification. Otabek debates long and hard whether to look and find out which friend or family member had noticed. It pings several more times in succession; Otabek resigns himself to his fate.   
  
To his surprise, it's Yuri. He'd completely forgotten they had exchanged numbers.

  
  
**YogaYura: Oh god, you saw that?** ****  
**YogaYura: I didn't mean it like that I swear** **  
** **YogaYura: I'm so sorry that was so unprofessional**

  
  
Otabek's stomach drops. Of course Yuri hadn't meant it like that. Which means that Otabek's flirty response was completely inappropriate. He wonders if someone can actually die of embarrassment. As Otabek silently panics, another text comes in.

  
**YogaYura: tbf your response wasn't much better**

  
  
Great, he's gone and upset Yuri. He hurries to type out a response.

  
  
**Me: I'm so sorry I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable** ****  
**Me: It was meant as a joke. I'll delete it** **  
** **YogaYura: NO!**

  
  
Otabek blinks, surprised by the capslock.

  
  
**YogaYura: You didn't make me uncomfortable, I promise**

  
  
Typing dots blink and stop, blink and stop next to Yuri's name for what seems like an eternity before they stop and are replaced by an incoming Facetime call. Otabek's stomach swoops and dips wildly. He scrambles to sit up and scrape his hair back into some semblance of order, wishing desperately he'd taken a shower when he first got home. At least you couldn't pick up smells through the phone. Pahpya meows at him again. He shushes her, then hits accept before the call can ring out. "Hey, uh. Hey." _Get it together Altin, for fuck's sake._   
  
Luckily, Yuri looks just as flustered. "I'm not uncomfortable or anything, I was just joking back. Which apparently didn't translate well over text, hence the call. I figured this shit storm of a conversation might go a bit better this way." Otabek's not sure he agrees, but it's too late now. He also doesn't know what to say now. Yuri laughs nervously. "So, yeah, everything is fine, it’s all good, we're all good. Right?"   
  
Otabek smiles just a bit. "Right." Awkward silence falls between them. Pahpya meows again to fill the silence and pushes herself imperiously onto Otabek's lap. Yuri's eyes light up when he sees her. "Is that your cat? It looks just like my Potya!" Otabek knows; there's a reason she'd stood out to him at the shelter, and it wasn't entirely due to her silky white fur and pretty blue eyes. "What's its name?"   
  
Otabek cuddles her a little closer, grateful for her heavy warmth. "She. And her name is Pahpya."   
  
Yuri looks a little confused. "Papa?" Pahpya bats at the phone, clearly insulted. Otabek laughs and tightens his grip so she doesn't knock it out of his hand.   
  
"No, Pah-Pya," he enunciates. "It's short for..." he stops, because if he admits that it’s short for Panther Hammerhead Python, it will become very obvious how much of a fanboy he really is. "It's a nickname."   
  
Yuri tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. Hastily, Otabek asks, "So are you cooking dinner?" Otabek can see kitchen cabinets and a small fridge in the background and there's a smudge of what looks like flour just under his eye. Whatever Yuri had been thinking is forgotten as he grins.   
  
"Yeah, pirozhki. They're my _dedulya's_ specialty." Yet another fact Otabek already knows and is pretending he doesn't. "I was feeling a bit homesick." He looks a little embarrassed about admitting it.   
  
"I crave my _anam's_ [manti](https://petersfoodadventures.com/2016/05/14/manti/) every time it snows," he offers.   
  
"Oh yeah?" Yuri brightens. "I've never tried to make those before."   
  
Otabek scrunches his nose. "Neither have I," he admits. "I can’t cook to save my life. Besides, they aren't exactly on the approved diet plan. Anam brings a ton whenever they visit, though, and then cooks another batch before they leave because the first one never makes it past the first week."   
  
Yuri laughs long and loud, tossing his head back. Otabek does his best not to stare. Pahpya pats his cheek softly in sympathy, then jumps off the bed and disappears like the traitor she is. Yuri quiets and bites his lip as he looks down at whatever he's doing. "Well, I know pirozhkis are probably not on the approved list either, but if you want to come over and have some, I won’t tell." Otabek hesitates. He hadn't even planned on getting up from his bed for the rest of the night, much less go out. Yuri's eyes widen and he shakes his head. "You don't have to or anything, I just thought I'd -"   
  
Otabek cuts him off. "I'd like that," he says firmly. Yuri's smile creeps back up. Otabek would and has bent over backwards to keep that smile on his face. "Just let me shower and feed Pahpya first." Yuri nods quickly.   
  
"Of course, sure, they aren't done yet anyway. I don't live far from the studio, I’ll text you the address. Would an hour from now work for you?"   
  
"Sounds good." Plenty of time for him to panic, and then get that panic under control.   
  
"Great, see you then." Thankfully, Yuri hangs up before it gets awkward. Otabek hops up, already mentally going through his closet, and barely even winces as one hamstring pulls in retaliation.

  
  
*** 

  
Yuri Facetimes Katsuki the second he hangs up with Otabek. Katsuki barely has a chance to greet him before Yuri barrels over him. "I invited Otabek over for dinner and I need you and Viktor and the kids to come over, now. Like, right now." Katsuki wastes precious seconds just staring at him. "Katsu, for fuck's sake, reboot already would you? I've only got an hour before he gets here."   
  
Katsuki shakes himself. "Sorry, I'm just a little confused as to why you want us crashing your date?" Yuri makes a noise like a dying animal.   
  
"It's not a date! And I need a buffer, so _he_ doesn't misinterpret it either."   
  
"Are you sure? Because I'm kind of having a hard time seeing it as a misinterpretation when I'm pretty sure dating him is _exactly_ what you want?"   
  
Yuri pulls out the big guns. "Yuuri, please, I'm begging you." Yuri sees the moment Katsuki crumbles. He rubs a hand over his forehead.   
  
"Fine." He points a finger at the phone screen. "But just know that I am judging you so hard right now."   
  
"I don't even blame you. Or care. Just get over here, okay?" Katsuki flaps an annoyed hand at him and hangs up without saying goodbye. Yuri hurries to finish up the pirozkhi and get them into into the oven so he can shower and get dressed in something not covered in flour and egg bits.   
  
His doorbell rings way before he'd expected it too and he can only pray to everything holy that Otabek isn't one of those people who arrives everywhere annoyingly early. He opens the door bare chested and clutching a shirt in each hand. Katsuki gives him a once over. "Judging you," he repeats flatly. Viktor pops up behind him, hooking his chin over his husband's shoulder.   
  
"He is. That is definitely his judging face," he says merrily. "Go with the green, it brings out your eyes."   
  
Yuri glances down at the green button up. "Are you sure? It's not too dressy or anything?" Katsuki snorts and pushes his way bodily past Yuri.   
  
"It's perfect for a date, but since this isn't one, go with the black tee. You wouldn't want him to _misinterpret_ anything." Katsuki throws a pointed over his shoulder before plopping down on the couch and making himself at home.   
  
"Wow, laying it on a little thick there, aren't you Kastudon?" Yuri asks dryly as he pulls on the tee and then throws the button up over the top in compromise.   
  
Viktor shoulder bumps him genially. "Don't let him get to you." He leans in conspiratorially. "He gets a little cranky when his plans to get laid get interrupted." Yuri recoils in horror.   
  
"Oh God, that's gross, why would you put that image in my mind?" He takes in the lack of kids, and the sharp edge to Viktor's teasing grin, and is horrified for another reason as he realizes what day it is. "Oh. Oh shit, it's date night."   
  
"Yuuup," Katsuki drawls from the couch. He flicks the tv on and starts flipping channels. "But we would never want to miss the entertainment to come. Vitya, pour me a glass of wine, would you?"   
  
"I don't have any wine," Yuri says faintly.   
  
Viktor holds up two bottles as he walks towards the kitchen. "Don't worry, we brought our own."   
  
Yuri's life flashes before his eyes. He makes an executive decision. "Nope! No, don't do that. You guys just go back home and enjoy your night, I'll be fine. Sorry I interrupted, I'll pay you back, promise."   
  
Katsuki twists around on the couch to regard him with a smile that would scare the devil. "Oh yes, there will be payment. And of course, we're going to stay. Wouldn't want to ditch you in your moment of need, after all."   
  
Viktor throws Yuri a sympathetic look as he hands Katsuki a plastic cup that is very, very full of wine. This...is not going to be a good night.

  
  
***

  
  
Yuri's eyes widen as he takes in Otabek's black denim jeans and leather jacket. He smirks and leans one hip casually against the door. "Gotta say, Beka, this look suits you much better than the neon."   
  
Otabek digs his hands in his pockets and rocks back onto the heels of his boots, smirking right back. "Is that your way of saying I look good?" Apparently smug is also a good look on him, the smooth ass motherfucker. Yuri rolls his eyes and steps back, gesturing him inside.   
  
"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer."

“Otabek!” Katsuki drawls cheerfully from the couch. He’s far more genial now that he’s two big cups into the wine, not that it makes Yuri feel much better about the situation. A drunk Katsudon is a chatty Katsudon. Otabek stops short just inside the door as Viktor waves his own hello while liberating the wine cup from his husband’s hand before it spills on Yuri’s couch.

“Oh. Uh, hi.” Otabek’s expression twists from surprise to something that almost looks like disappointment for a moment before he recovers and smiles. Yuri curses himself for being a coward. “Nice to see you guys.”  
  
"Here, let me take your jacket," Yuri says quickly to break the suddenly awkward atmosphere. Otabek shrugs it off and Yuri nearly fumbles it, but manages to get it onto one of the coat hooks while Otabek kicks off his boots and sets them with the others lined up against the wall.

"So," Otabek says quietly as he nudges one of Yuri's own shoes a little closer to the wall with his toe. "Yuuri and Viktor are eating with us too?" He sounds like he's trying to act casual, but the small grimace on his lips says he knows he's failing. Yuri is an idiot.

"Um, yeah. They, uh," he's hit with a brilliant idea. "I mentioned pirozhki to them and next thing I know, they're at the door."

Katsuki snorts loudly and opens his big mouth but Viktor, saint that he is, distracts him by planting a big kiss on his cheek and slinging an arm around him. "No one says no to pirozhki," he carols. He murmurs something in Katsuki's ear and whatever he says seems to appease him because instead of ruining Yuri's life, he leans back into Viktor and occupies himself with nuzzling him.

Whatever Otabek thinks of this little interaction, it doesn't show on his face. He just smiles. "So I've heard. It smells amazing in here."

"Of course it does," Yuri says proudly. "They taste even better. And they're almost done. Katsudon, want to help me get them on the table?" Keeping Katsuki as far from Otabek as possible is the name of the game right now. He half expects Katsuki to argue, but he just steals his cup back from Viktor and stands. He's annoyingly fluid, even drunk. "Please don't screw this up for me," Yuri says quietly as they transfer the remaining pirozhki from the cooling rack to a large plate.

Katsuki huffs, affronted. "Yura, of course I'm not going to do anything. I'm _rooting_ for you guys." Yuri eyes the half full cup of wine dubiously. Katsuki rolls his eyes. "Don't worry, I'm not that drunk. I'm cool. As a cucumber. In a fridge. This isn't helping to convince you, is it?"

Yuri shakes his head. "Not even a little." Katsuki shrugs, but he does press the cup firmly into Yuri's hand.

"You need it more than I do, anyways," he says as he takes the plate out to the little alcove that Yuri calls his dining room. Yuri looks down at the cup, then chugs it because yes, yes he does.

 

***

 

Even though dinner doesn't end up being the intimate affair Otabek had expected, he still has a lot of fun. The pirozhki are delicious and the happy flush Yuri gets when Otabek tells him so makes it even better. Drunk Yuuri is hilarious, and Viktor is a master at spinning out tales of his students' shenanigans. When Viktor pronounces it to be Twister time, Otabek is just wine warmed enough to chuckle and agree despite Yuri's vehement protests. "Come on," he coaxes as Viktor prances into the living room and pulls the game out of a closet filled with toys and games Otabek that assumes are for the Katsuki-Nikiforov kids. "Don't tell me you aren't great at this game."

Yuri crosses his arms and tries to look grumpy, but the wine has softened the lines around his eyes. "I fucking rock at this game, Altin. I'm just worried for your poor arms and legs."

Otabek leans in close enough that he can smell the spices on Yuri's breath. "Don't be."

Yuri gulps, eyes wide. Otabek leans back again with a smirk as Yuuri and Viktor coo obnoxiously in the background. Yuri regains his composure quickly and hip checks him as he passes. "Your funeral," he says over his shoulder.

Otabek learns just how true those words are when less than ten minutes later, he's faced with the very real dilemma of throwing the game or going for the only plausible red dot and spending who knows how long with his face just inches from Yuri's lap. Assuming his arm doesn't give out and make him face plant instead.

"What's wrong, Otabek? I'm sure you can reach the third dot there," Viktor says innocently from where he's safely ensconced on the couch and holding the spin board. Both he and Yuuri are apparently terrible at the game; neither of them lasted more than a few minutes, leaving Otabek and Yuri to duke it out to the bitter, awkward end. Otabek glares at him, but he's no quitter, so he carefully lifts his right hand and reaches.

 _Channel your inner cobra_ , he thinks desperately to himself, arching his back and tilting his chin towards the ceiling. Yuri makes a small choked sound and Otabek belatedly realizes that he’s not the only one in a compromising position. Yuuri makes a similar, but far more amused sound into his glass of water. “That’s beautiful form, Otabek. Yura has taught you well.”

Yuri spits something out and it takes a moment for Otabek to realizes they’re actual words, not incoherent noises. Yuuri responds back in the same language; it must be Japanese. Yuri switches back to Russian. “Would you just spin the fucking board already?”

Viktor flicks the spinner with one manicured finger and Otabek is 95% sure he deliberately stops it on a specific color. That goes up to 99% when he calls out, “Yura, right foot yellow.”

Otabek can’t hold back a pained groan. He’s already taking up the easiest spot for Yuri to reach, which means he’s going to have to…

Cursing up a storm, Yuri arches his back, pressing upward into a bridge so he can move his foot and yup, that’s a dick against Otabek’s throat. “Why?” Otabek whines pathetically as Yuri continues to inch his foot backwards “Actually, scratch that. _How_?” Otabek can’t look down for obvious reasons, so he can only imagine the pretzel Yuri is twisted into.

Yuri chuckles, just a little bit breathless, body shaking in unpleasantly pleasant ways against him. Something brushes Otabek’s inner thigh. He grits his teeth and prays for death. “The miracles of wheel pose,” Yuri says smugly. “And as for why, Plisetskys never surrender.”

Pigheaded competitiveness should never be this attractive.

“Are you ready, Otabek?” Viktor asks. Otabek grunts. “Left foot yellow.” Otabek hadn’t even heard him spin. Maybe the sound was hidden by Yuuri’s giggles, but more likely, Viktor had given up even the pretense that he isn’t masterminding this fiasco.

“Problem, Beka?” Yuri asks. Otabek can practically hear the triumph in his voice. In reality, he’d been contemplating the best way to balance himself well enough to slide his foot without collapsing and crushing Yuri, but if Plisetskys never surrender, then Altins always rise to a challenge.

“Nope.” He pushes up onto his toes and into the worst bastardization of a downward dog this apartment has probably ever seen. It leaves him with his face exactly where he doesn’t want it, but it lets him tilt his pelvis down and slide his foot out to the furthest spot he can reach. His middle splits have never gone so deep and his thighs scream at the abuse, but it also affords Yuri the same view that Otabek is currently faced with and absolutely not enjoying at all, not even one bit, nope.

“Fuck,” Yuri breathes, and Otabek snorts.

“Problem, Yura?”

Otabek expects curses or insults. He does not expect the press of teeth against his thigh or the sharp ache as Yuri bites. He squawks, and just barely manages to drop to a knee instead of sliding into a split his body is not made for. Yuri grunts and collapses, then scrambles out from under him, horrified. “Oh my god, I am so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, actually no, I wasn’t thinking at all, I just…”

“Decided to indulge your inner five-year-old and bite me?”

“Oh my god, Yura you didn’t!” Yuuri gasps while Viktor cackles so hard he falls off the couch. Otabek’s lips twitch as apologies continue to spill out of Yuri. He catches one of his flailing hands and draws it to his mouth so he can bite down on the fleshy part of his thumb, just hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth behind. Yuri stutters and stalls out; behind them, Yuuri and Viktor fall silent.

“Now we’re even,” he says, trying to pretend like he’s cool and suave and not currently drowning in mortification and regret. “But I should probably be going. Early practice.” He stands and brushes his hands against thighs that complain of abuse. Yuri scrambles up too.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Good night, Otabek,” Viktor says with a small wave. “Put some ice on those thighs.” Yuuri smacks his chest. “What? Those splits looked painful.”

“I really am sorry,” Yuri says again as he holds Otabek’s jacket out. “I think I may have had a little too much to drink.” Otabek takes it from him with one hand and Yuri’s wrist with the other, turning it so it’s palm up and displaying his bite mark.

“Even, remember?” Yuri bites back a smile.

“Sure, okay freak. Night.” Otabek squeezes the hand gently, rather than kissing it like he wants.

“Good night, Yura.” Otabek escapes before the night gets any weirder.

 

***

 

During his shower the next morning, Otabek finds a small bruise halfway up his thigh. He presses his fingers against it thoughtfully as he washes, and sporadically throughout the day. The ache is sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * "<3" as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note for anyone also reading Ripping Stitches: the next chapter will be up tomorrow. I just don't have the time today to post both. In other news, this is my favorite chapter. ;D
> 
> Come join me on Tumblr at [disasterbek-altin](https://disasterbek-altin.tumblr.com). We can geek out together about these beautiful idiot boys.

By mutual unspoken agreement, they don’t talk about The Biting Incident. Yuri tries to forget it ever happened just like he tries to ignore the interested glances Otabek gets in the Beginners I class he starts attending faithfully. He’s not very successful with either endeavor and ends up cowing some of his students with his glares. He watches with mystified disbelief as Otabek apparently decides that making friends with The Mommies is a good idea. Yuri attempts to disabuse him of that notion, but Otabek gives him a disappointed frown and says, “I like them, Yura, and they’re very nice once you get to know them.” Yuri crosses his arms so he won’t shrink back under the power of Otabek’s Dad Face.

“Yeah, but...why _them_?” he asks. “What the hell could you possibly have in common?”

“Things,” he responds enigmatically, and then stoutly refuses to elaborate. When Yuri bitches about it to Katsuki, he snorts, looking endlessly amused.

“I can think of a few things they have in common,” he says, and also doesn’t elaborate, because everyone in his life is determined to kill him with curiosity.

A month passes before Yuri even notices. It hits him while guiding Otabek into the cobra part of a [cobra standing backbend pose](https://imgur.com/KAj8F6y) and realizes that he has to bend his arms to give him the tension he needs to pull him upwards because Otabek’s back flexibility has increased far beyond the point Yuri would have expected by now. He pulls out of his backbend and slowly lowers Otabek’s torso back to the floor. He stares down at him, considering, as Otabek flips over onto his back, rolling his shoulders. “What?” he asks when he notices Yuri staring.

“You’ve been coming for a month now,” Yuri tells him. Otabek’s eyebrows do the weird wiggle thing Yuri has come to interpret as ' _is there a point and do you plan on getting to it?'_

“I know. Technically a month and three days, why?”

Yuri smirks. “Has someone been counting?” And now Otabek is making his _'I said too much but I’m not going to admit it'_ face. Yuri wonders when he’d become so fluent in OtaSpeak. He nudges Otabek to get up so they can go into Twin Warrior pose. “I’m just saying, it’s an anniversary. We should celebrate it.” They aren’t looking at each other, but Yuri practically feels him hesitate. His stomach drops; he’s an idiot. “Actually, never mind, stupid idea.” _People don’t celebrate anniversaries for yoga classes, dumbass._

“No!” Otabek says quickly. He falls out of Twin Warrior and faces Yuri. “I want to, but it’s less than two weeks before my first competition and Amina will kill me if I go out between now and then.” Shit, how has Yuri managed to miss that the season was starting? He usually follows it to an (unhealthy, according to Katsuki) degree. Otabek continues with a hopeful lilt in his voice. “But...after? Maybe?” He smiles warmly and runs a hand through his hair, then looks at it and makes a face.

“You’re a little sweaty,” Yuri offers with a smirk. He barks out a laugh as Otabek sticks his tongue out. He sees the moment Otabek realizes what he’d just done, and then moment he decides to own his immaturity. Reporters often comment on his stoicism and lack of emotion but clearly they are blind. “Cute," Yuri says. "After, it is. Besides, then we’ll have two things to celebrate: your yoga-versary and your shiny gold medal.”

Otabek drops his head in his hands with a groan. “That was terrible. You are terrible.”

“You love it.” God, he needs a gag; he’s so obvious. He rushes on before Otabek can react. "So are you ready for acro pose time?”

“Yes,” Otabek says, impossibly fond. Yuri has no clue which statement he’s referring to, but he kind of hopes it’s the former.

 

***

 

Otabek has to cut out his beginners classes as the rest of his training schedule ramps up drastically, so for the next two weeks, he only sees Yuri for their twice weekly private sessions. They are the highlight of his week, something he _never_ thought he’d say about yoga or any type of stretching in general. Amina is both ecstatic and unbearably smug about the flexibility gains he’s made, which is irksome, but even he can see how much his skating has improved. He might not get gold like Yuri is convinced of, but he’s going to try his hardest.

He finds himself running through the beginner sequence he’d learned on his own each night while Pahpya watches and attempts to join in. Yuri gets a kick out of the[ pictures](https://imgur.com/lVNFgEN) he sends on snapchat and replies with [pictures](https://imgur.com/g6CAZsf) of [him](https://imgur.com/gZLqOf0) and [Potya](https://imgur.com/yjr5ugN). Otabek has screen-shotted a frankly embarrassing number of them, but so has Yuri so he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

Hands down, his favorite part of their sessions comes at the end, when Yuri guides them into increasingly complicated ‘ _acro yoga_ ’ poses. Otabek continues to be the base the majority of the time, which he is more than okay with. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Yuri to be able to hold or steady him. He just doesn’t trust himself to bend himself up into the pretzel poses Yuri does.

Yuri, apparently, believes otherwise. “Come on, it’s an easy one and you’ve got more than enough flexibility at this point to pull it off.” Otabek looks at the picture of the pose on Yuri’s phone skeptically. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

Otabek will not allow himself to be goaded. He is better than that.

Yuri clucks at him like a chicken.

“Really, Yura?” Yuri graces him with a shit eating grin.

“Ugh, fine. But if I break myself, you get to explain it to Amina.” Yuri blanches; he’d met Amina a few weeks in and been suitably cowed. “Nope, you’re committed now. Let’s do this.”

Yuri glares at him, but can’t say anything without looking like a giant hypocrite so, grumbling, he props his phone up against one wall and sets it up to record them. Yuri’s clips of their bloopers and fumbling to get into positions have become some of his most popular posts.

Yuri lays on the floor face up and gestures at the air above his head. “Come on, Beka, straddle me,” he says with a cheeky grin. Otabek rolls his eyes but stands with one foot on each side of his head, facing away from his legs.

“You do this on purpose, don’t you,” he mutters.

“Gotta cater to the fans,” Yuri chirps. “Now grab my ankles.” He pushes up into a shoulder stand, a long line of warmth against Otabek’s back, shins lightly brushing against his hair. Otabek nudges his shoulder with one foot in retaliation, but reaches behind his head and takes hold as Yuri wraps his own hands around Otabek’s thighs. They feel like brands through the thin fabric of his leggings. Otabek bites his lip and praises Allah for dance belts.

Otabek waits, but Yuri doesn’t move or say anything. He shifts restlessly. “So. Yura. You plan on telling me what to do anytime soon?”

Yuri’s hands spasm on Otabek’s thighs. “Oh, yeah, um. Just lean forward and start arching your back, I guess.”

“I guess, he says. I totally know what I’m doing, he says,” Otabek snipes but he does as told.

“Technically, I didn’t say I knew what I was doing,” Yuri says, voice a little strained as he rolls each vertebra down into the floor and lets his legs pull Otabek further into the [backbend](https://imgur.com/H8YYPo2).

“Not. Helping,” Otabek grunts.

“How about this then: engage your damn core and open up your chest. You know better than to only bend from the lower back. Helpful enough?”

Otabek throws a deadpan look at the camera. Yuri isn’t the only one who enjoys playing things up for the viewers. Yuri’s suggestions do take some of the tension off his lower back, though, so he shifts onto his toes and presses his weight further into Yuri’s hold on his legs. “I’m flying, Jack,” he simpers.

Yuri snorts unattractively. “More like a ship’s figurehead, but sure, whatever floats your boat, Rose.”

Otabek groans. “For the love of...no ship puns.”

“Aww, but I haven’t even gotten to the sea men jokes yet.” Otabek huffs out a laugh, then winces.

“Ow, please don’t make me laugh,” he whines.

Yuri grips his thighs more tightly, pulling him back into a more shallow bend. “Are you okay?” he says, all humor gone. His concern is endearing, even if it’s unwarranted.

“I’m fine, Yuriyim,” he reassures him.

Yuri squeezes. “Let’s pull out anyway,” he says.

Otabek tsks, smirking. “You know pulling out isn’t a very effective technique, right?”

Yuri falls completely silent for a moment, then, “I hate you so much.” Otabek bites his lip to hold back a laugh.

It takes a few awkward seconds to get out of the pose. Otabek eases down onto the ground next to where Yuri is sprawled, rubbing his stomach. “God, I need to work on my ab strength,” he moans. Otabek pats his hand gently, then lets it rest there, moving up and down as Yuri breathes. Less than two months ago, the ease of such intimate touches would have been a foreign concept to him, but pairs yoga has the definite side effect of breaking down personal bubbles.

“You’re leaving in a couple days, right?” Yuri says eventually.

“Tomorrow, actually,” Otabek corrects. “Amina likes to take a day beforehand to sight see. Stress decompression, she says.”

Yuri makes a face. “That would be terrible,” he says. “I’d spend the entire day thinking about how much time I was wasting when I could be on the ice.”

“You always were very single minded,” Otabek says absently. “It’s something I admired about you. Admire,” he corrects. He breaks out of his thoughts when he notices that Yuri is abnormally quiet. He’s staring resolutely up at the ceiling, jaw clenched. Guilt coils heavy in Otabek’s stomach. “Sorry, I know you don’t like to talk about -”

“Being single minded is what ruined my career,” Yuri interrupts. He sounds bitter, but it’s an old kind of hurt, long resigned. Otabek stays quiet. If Yuri wants to continue, Otabek won’t stop him, but he’s not going to pry either. Yuri sighs heavily and draws one knee up towards his chest, rubbing at it ruefully. “I was just a dumb kid. I was absolutely determined to take home every gold for my debut season. Yakov and Lilia warned me I was over training. Hell, even Viktor told me I was over training, but of course I was too pigheaded to listen. I didn’t even make it to my first qualifier, fell while improvising a quad when I shouldn’t and shattered my knee.”

Otabek winces. He’s had his fair share of injuries, but something like that is every athlete’s worst nightmare. “I’m so sorry, Yura.” Yuri scowls and sits up.

“I don’t need your pity,” he growls, refusing to look up. Otabek raises an eyebrow and nudges him firmly.

“In all the time you’ve known me so far, have I ever struck you as someone prone to pity?”

Yuri’s lips curl in a facsimile of a smile that becomes more genuine when Otabek leans up on  one elbow and pokes his arm repeatedly with a finger. “Stop that. There’s nothing to pity anyways. No one but Yuuri believes me, but it was honestly the best thing to happen to me. I mean, sure, I’ll never be able to do more than basic double jumps, but I don’t have a limp, and I’ve still got mostly original hardware.” He knocks his fist on his knee. “And it brought me here. I have a career that will last past my mid-twenties. I get to help and teach people, which I never thought was something I’d like but I really do. And I’m _happy_ here. I was never really happy skating. Driven, proud, triumphant. But not happy. Or content. Viktor too. I never saw him genuinely smile until he joined me for a class and met Yuuri. So yeah, shit happens, but that’s not always a bad thing.” Otabek stares at him as he falls quiet again. “What?” he snaps, shifting impatiently.

Otabek shakes his head. _I want to kiss you_ , he thinks. _I want to hold you and drink in that passion and fire because in your place, I don’t think I could be so strong, but with you, maybe I could and I want that. I want you._

What he says instead is, “Sorry, I just don’t think I’ve ever heard that many words come out of your mouth at once.”

Yuri’s mouth gapes open, then with a cry of indignation, he tackles Otabek. Otabek lands on his back with an oomph and laughs breathlessly as Yuri tries to wrestle him. “You’re such an asshole, Altin, how have you managed to hide this from the world for so long?”

Rather than answer, Otabek tugs him down into a tight hug and holds on while Yuri squawks and struggles for a moment before coming to rest sprawled across him, head pillowed on Otabek’s chest. “I’m glad,” he murmurs into the crown of Yuri’s head, fine blond strands tickling and sticking to his lips. “That you’re happy.”

Yuri stills, then slumps and settles a little further into Otabek’s embrace. “Yeah, well, I’ll be happier when you bring me back that gold. Don’t let all my hard work go to waste, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Otabek agrees. “I won’t let you down.”

 

***

 

**YogaYura: Beka, what does Yuriyim mean and why are 99% of my Kazakhstani instagram followers screaming about it on my video post?**

**Me: ...sorry, I’m too busy skating to answer**

**YogaYura: Fine, guess I’ll just ask them**

**Me: Nope, no, no need. I’ll explain when I get home, okay?**

**YogaYuri: Promise?**

**Me: promise.**

**YogaYuri: Deal. Davai, Beka 👍  
**

**Me: 👍  
**

 

***

 

“I am so fucking bored right now,” Yuri complains. He bangs his head against the front desk, then does it again for good measure. “Do you think if I hit my head hard enough, I could knock myself out until my next class?” he asks the laminate surface idly.

“I think if you hit your head hard enough to knock yourself out, you won’t be _going_ to your next class,” Katsuki says from his seated position on the floor next to Yuri’s stool. He sets aside the silk he’d been checking over for defects and picks up the next without even bothering to look up or acknowledge Yuri’s theatrics.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Yuri snipes petulantly. He rests his forehead on the edge of the desk so he can glare at Katsuki. “And anyways, says who?”

“Says the hospital where I’ll be dumping your unconscious body.” Katsuki tilts his head back to regard Yuri with a dry look. “Of course, if you’re that bored you could always, you know, _help_ me.”

Yuri snorts to express his disdain for that suggestion. “Not _that_ bored.” He picks up his phone and checks Instagram for the ten millionth time that morning. No updates. Normally Otabek posts a picture of every airport he passes through. So far, no pictures of New Pulkovo Terminal though. Yuri slumps.

“You know, before Otabek started coming here, I didn’t think it was possible for you to be any more obsessed. Please don’t prove me wrong.”

Yuri plants one bare foot against Katsuki’s back and pushes in retaliation; Katsuki just bends until his torso is almost flat to the floor, unphased. “Why’s everyone gotta be so damn flexible?” Yuri whines, pointing his toe to press him down those few centimeters more. Katsuki reaches behind him and grabs Yuri’s ankle so he can sit up and twist to face him.

“Are you seriously asking that question? In a yoga studio?”

“Shut up, your logic has no place here,” Yuri groans. He collapses off the stool and onto Katsuki, draping his lanky body over him. “ _Katsudooon_.”

“Oh for…” Katsuki elbows him off. “Yuri Plisetsky, you are not a child, so stop acting like one. I swear, Yukiya is more mature than you sometimes.”

Yuri flops dramatically onto his back, spitefully making sure he’s laying directly on top of the silk Katsuki’s inspecting. “She definitely has more sympathy than her father.” He stares at the clouds painted on the ceiling. His fingers itch for his phone, but it’s still up on the desk and out of reach.

Katsuki heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You aren’t going to stop, are you,” he states, more than questions.

“Ten points for piggy.” He flings his arms out, smacking Katsuki in the face as he does. Katsuki growls, fed up. He grabs Yuri’s wrist and stands gracefully, yanking Yuri up with him. Yuri yelps indignantly at the rough treatment. Katsuki ignores it as he drags Yuri up the stairs to his own studio and practically tosses him at one of the poles set up. Yuri uses his forward momentum to swing around and into a lazy pirouette so he’s facing Katsuki. He smirks. “What’s your plan here, Katsu, gonna spin me into shutting up?”

“God willing,” Katsuki mutters as he crosses his arms over his chest. He nods to the pole Yuri is still holding. “You wanted something to do,” he says pointedly. “Show me your Bridge Hang.”

Yuri makes a face. “I’m not warmed up, though.”

“You just taught a class less than an hour ago. You’re fine,” Katsuki shoots down his excuse.

“I don’t have the right clothes.” Yuri gestures at his loose tank and leggings futilely. He already knows what Katsuki is going to say. “No. Nope, not gonna happen. I am not wearing those gross ass booty shorts Viktor leaves here. You’re lucky I don’t burn them. I know what you heathens got up to the last time he wore them.”

Katsuki at least has the good grace to blush and look embarrassed. “It’s not like we didn’t wash them after,” he mutters.

“Yeah, and I washed my eyes with bleach, but I still feel dirty.” Yuri sighs. In spite of his protests, he can’t deny that Katsuki’s idea isn’t a bad one. He’s too antsy for yoga but he’s not as adept at the pole, which means he’ll be too busy concentrating on not cracking his head open during an invert to entertain thoughts of a particular ice skater. “Fine, I’ll grab a pair from the store.” He points a finger at Katsuki. “I’m not paying for them, though.” Katsuki shrugs, unconcerned, and turns his attention towards the stereo.

Yuri huffs. Whatever. He’s choosing the most expensive pair.

 

***

 

The most expensive pair turn out to be hot pink and shimmery. Yuri’s not quite petty enough for Viktor levels of flamboyance, so he chooses a basic black pair and stomps into the bathroom to change. Katsuki smirks when he reenters the pole studio. “What, no hot pink lamé?” he asks innocently.

Yuri doesn’t know if he’s that predictable or if Katsuki just knows him that well, but either way, he doesn’t like it.

 

***

 

“Ow,” Yuri grits out as the skin on his inner thighs threatens to rip off. He drops out of his [sit position](https://imgur.com/1ooWYOG) so he can rub at the reddened, chafed skin.

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Suck it up, buttercup. Don’t tell me you can’t handle a little pole burn anymore.”

Yuri rolls his eyes but prepares to climb the pole again. “It’s well over a month since I last did this, it’s not my fault my skin’s been sensitized again.” He grunts as he pulls himself up and flips so his legs are over his head. He fumbles a bit before catching the pole with the back of one leg, gripping it tightly between his calf and thigh. “I’m going to be bruised to hell.”

Katsuki snorts, merciless. “Love your pole kisses, Yura. They’re badges of honor.”

“They’re badges of insanity and I don’t know why you talked me into this,” Yuri replies. He squeezes tighter and winces at the burn behind his knee as he lets go of his hands and arches backwards to grab the pole below his head. He grins fiercely, proud even though sweat causes his leg grip to slip a little. He flips himself out of the move and back to the floor. Katsuki hands him a rag and bottle of alcohol solution so he can wipe down the pole and his hands and leg so his skin will stick a little better.

“I’m sorry, was that meant to be a [bridge hang](http://poledancedictionary.com/moves/308/bridged-outside-leg-hang/)?” Katsuki says instead of responding. “Because I’m pretty sure Yukiya and Kolya look more graceful swinging from the monkey bars.” Yuri scowls at him and he raises his hands. “What? I’m just saying. Maybe you’ve been away too long. Should we try something easier?”

“Oh fuck you, Katsu,” Yuri snaps. He grabs the pole and inverts again but before he even gets his leg in position, Katsuki says,

“You kicked off. Do it again, and do it right this time, no cheating.”

“Who _cares_ ,” Yuri whines, “it’s not like I’m competing. No one gives a shit about my form,” He drops back down and starts again anyway. This time he uses his arm and core strength to pull himself up rather than pushing off the ground for momentum. He’s going to cry. His arms are going to fall off. He seriously needs to get back to his conditioning program because right now he has no idea how he’s going to get through his next class without collapsing to the floor in ab induced agony.

He manages to get back into the correct position with minimal grimaces and whimpers. Katsuki’s upside down face looks a little happier this time, but he still says, “You want it to look good for Otabek, don’t you? Kicking off is no way to seduce someone.”

 _Because Beka would have the slightest idea what a proper mount looks like,_ Yuri thinks crossly. He focuses on his breathing and jumps on the subject, grateful for a distraction from the discomfort. “Beka’s never going to see this,” he grunts. “Not everyone seduces their husband-to-be with pole dancing, Katsu.”

Katsuki shrugs and itches idly at his nose as his eyes rove over Yuri’s form, looking for mistakes. “Can’t deny it’s an effective tactic. Stop arching your back so much. If you can’t control it, don’t do it.”

Yuri groans, but tightens his poor abused core. “Shameless.”

“But effective.”

Yuri will give him that. He puts the suggestion down as plan C, right after foregoing words entirely in favor of grabbing Otabek by his goofy ears and kissing him silly. “Blood. Head,” he says, eyeballs pulsing in their sockets. Katsuki twirls his finger, gesturing for him to dismount. Yuri does so, then collapses to the floor and contemplates never getting up. Getting up means using muscles he never wants to use again.

Katsuki crouches over him like an annoying little gargoyle, lips pursed into a disapproving frown. He points and accusing finger at him, “You’ve been slacking on your strength training,” he tells him, like Yuri’s muscles aren’t already screaming the same thing. “You should come back to the pole conditioning classes. And start switching positions with Otabek. He’s here to gain more flexibility, not prop you up while you try and woo him with your freakish Gumby body.”

Yuri somehow manages to find the strength to lift both arms and flip him off. Katsuki laughs and stands. “Your class is starting in ten minutes and Viktor is probably already here with Kolya. You might want to change out of those shorts unless you want to give Otabek and the Mom Squad aneurysms.”

Yuri is going to kick his ass. Later. The thought of Otabek’s eyes glazing over is a nice (if unlikely) fantasy, but Otabek’s not here and he’d rather do a hundred more bridge hangs than let The Mommies see him running around in pole shorts. With a heartfelt groan, he drags himself up off the floor and to the bathroom. The next hour is going to suck. He will never whine to Yuuri “I’m A Sadist” Katsuki again.

He suspects that was the plan in the first place.

 

***

 

Otabek is exhausted as he steps off the plane, all shuffling feet and leaden arms. The only thing heavier than his eyelids is the silver medal carefully tucked away in his carry-on. Amina claps a warm hand on his shoulder and gently maneuvers him out of the flow of passengers exiting the plane. “Come on, Beshkya. Take your damn airport selfie so we can go home. I have dogs waiting for me.”

“And a husband,” Otabek adds, amused as he digs his phone out of his pocket and slings his arm over her tiny shoulders.

“Bah,” she huffs, throwing a bloodthirsty grin at the phone screen. Everything Amina does has a touch of bloodthirst to it. He adds bunny ears and snaps the pic before she can protest. He laughs as she shoves him in retaliation. “You’re going straight home, yes? No pit stops,” she says as he posts the picture to Instagram and then snapchats it privately to Yuri as well. Otabek hesitates. She scowls and points a finger at him. “Otabek Altin, you will get at least twenty four full hours of rest before running off to your yoga boy, you hear me?” Otabek’s ears come up around his shoulders guiltily.

“Okay,” he says meekly. She peers at him, squinting to determine his sincerity.

“Okay. Good. Besides,” she throws him a little smirk as she guides him back into the fray. “You look like shit, Beks, and you kind of smell like it too. This is not how you want to reunite with him, trust me.”

Otabek snorts. “Thanks,” he says dryly.

Amina pushes up onto her tiptoes to pat him condescendingly on the head. “Of course, anything for my very best skater.” Otabek presses his lips together firmly and says nothing. She side eyes him but stays quiet as they wait for their Uber and for the duration of their trip back to Otabek’s apartment. She stops him with a hand on his arm, however, just before he slides out of the back seat. “I’m proud of you, Beshkya. A silver with barely a one point gap is no small thing. Do that again the next qualifier, and you’re guaranteed a spot in the Grand Prix.”

“Yeah, I know.” He does not say, _but it’s not gold_ , because he refuses to admit that there’s just one tiny niggling strand of disappointment weaving through the pride he feels over his first silver medal, simply because he feels like he’s let Yuri down. It’s stupid. Yuri will probably yell at him for being stupid.

Amina mutters something in Uzbek. “Be proud,” she tells him more firmly. “Yoga boy will be. And if he isn’t, you send him to me and I’ll set him straight.”

Otabek laughs and hugs her. “His name is Yuri,” he says.

“I know.” She wriggles out of his grip and nudges him firmly towards the door. “Now go shower and sleep. Remember, twenty four hours.”

“Yes, yes, twenty four hours, got it. Bye, Amina.”

Pahpya greets him at the door, melting happily in his arms as he coos to her. It’s good to be home.

Otabek manages to wait until he’s showered and cozily ensconced in his bed before checking his notifications. Yuri’s texted him rather than replying through social media.

 

**YogaYura: Welcome back!!**

**YogaYura: And congrats, I knew you could do it**

 

Otabek frowns.

 

**Me: Thanks. Sorry I couldn’t bring you gold**

Yuri's immediate response is a gif that oozes exasperation.

**YogaYura:**

****

Otabek smiles in spite of himself, even as a flood of texts bombard him.

 

**YogaYura: Are you kidding me right now?!**

**YogaYura: That’s not your fault, the whole thing was totally rigged in dumbass JJ LeDouche’s favor. What do you expect from Skate Canada?**

**YogaYura: And even if it wasn’t, silver is damn good and if you think for one moment I wouldn’t be happy and proud of you then you’re an idiot**

**YogaYura: Don’t be so hard on yourself**

**YogaYura: That’s my job 😉  
**

**Me: Okay. And thanks**

 

Otabek drags himself back up and over to the carry on he’d dropped by his dresser to dig the medal out. He carries it back to the bed as his phone dings again.

YogaYura: So. Celebration? Tomorrow?

Otabek thinks of his promise to Amina and sighs.

 

**Me: Day after tomorrow? Promised Amina I’d rest 24hrs minimum**

**YogaYura: Smart lady**

**YogaYura: Okay, day after next. Meet at the studio? I know a place nearby**

**Me: Where?**

**YogaYura: Spoilers. Wear what you did that time you came over for dinner**

**Me: ???**

**YogaYura: Studio. 19:00. See you then, Beka. Get some sleep**

**Me: Ay aye, cap’n**

 

Otabek puts his phone on Do Not Disturb and rolls onto his back, dangling the medal over his head as a smile creeps onto his face. Silver. _Next one will be gold_ , he promises himself, determined. He sets it on the bedside table along with his phone, turns onto his side, draws Pahpya up against his chest, and closes his eyes.

 

***

 

Otabek recognizes where they’re headed before they even get there. “We’re going to a club?” he asks. He’s not sure why he’s surprised; Yuri is certainly dressed for clubbing, hair expertly braided back to show off newly purple leopard spots.

Yuri narrows his eyes at him but keeps walking. “What makes you say that?” Otabek smiles to himself.

“We’re heading into the clubbing district. It’s not exactly hard to guess.”

Yuri looks disgruntled for a moment, but shakes it off. “Okay, fine. We’re going clubbing. But I’m not telling you where.” Otabek shrugs. He’ll find out soon enough.

They stop outside of Pandora’s Box, neon purple and pink lights reflecting in Yuri’s eyes as he looks up at the sign. Even though the club has barely been open half an hour, a line winds around the building, two or three deep in some spots. Otabek raises his eyebrows. “Here?” he asks.

Otabek isn’t sure if Yuri is blushing or if it’s just the lights playing across his face as he says, “Yeah, I know. It’s got a bit of a reputation, but Viktor knows the owner and promised we could skip the line. I figured you wouldn’t want to wait half the night outside.”

Otabek presses his lips together to hide his smile. “True.” He lets Yuri lead him to the front of the line.

Yuri plants himself firmly in front of the bouncer. “Yuri Plisetsky and guest,” he says, arms crossed. “We’re on the list.” The bouncer’s unimpressed look slides over Yuri and lands on Otabek. He blinks, eyebrows high. Otabek presses one finger against his lips in the universal sign for quiet. Yuri glances suspiciously between them but Otabek just blinks back innocently. The bouncer hides an amused look as he flips through the clipboard sitting on a stool next to him. He’s not even pretending to look at it.

“Yuri Plisetsky and...guest. Sure, right here. Go on in,” he says, unclipping the ostentatious red velvet rope. He throws a not-even-slightly subtle wink in Otabek’s direction. Otabek gives him a wide-eyed exasperated look but ushers Yuri through the door with a hand on each shoulder.

Yuri spins as soon as they're in the tiny entryway that holds the coat check. “What was that about?” he demands. Otabek shrugs off his leather jacket and hands it over to the bored looking man behind the counter and takes the offered ticket. “No clue. Maybe he thought he recognized me or something,” he hedges.

“Right,” Yuri drawls, but leaves it alone in favor of stepping through the heavy velvet curtains leading to the club proper. “I want a drink.” He grabs Otabek and tugs him towards the neon lined bar. His hand is warm and a little sweaty and fits perfectly in Otabek’s. He never wants to let go. “Shots!” he yells, leaning over the bar to be heard as the bartender comes over. He looks over at Otabek with a wild grin. “Pick your poison, Beka. It’s on me tonight.”

Otabek opens his mouth to argue, but shuts up as a pair of arms twine around his shoulders and a french accent purrs, “I’m afraid you’re wrong there, _cherie_. Your drinks will be on me tonight.” One of the arms extends, offering a hand to Yuri. “You must be Yuri. I’ve heard so much about you. Christophe, pleasure to meet you.” Yuri glares at the hand as if it were holding a dirty diaper. “And apparently the rumors were true.” A low laugh brushes past Otabek’s ear as Christophe wraps Otabek tighter, giving him a little shake. “And of course, this man needs no introduction. Come to listen to the music rather than make it, hmm? Or are you here to celebrate? I heard about your silver. Congrats.”

Otabek shrugs him off and turns. “Hi, Chris,” he says with a resigned sigh. “Thank you.”

“How the hell do you two know each other?” Yuri growls. He looks confused, and more than a little pissed. Chris looks between to two of them with a small crease in his brow. His expression shifts slowly from confused to mischievous.

“Aww, Otabek, did you not want him to know? Didn’t want to spoil his surprise, I’ll bet. How sweet.”  Otabek watches as Yuri’s face crumples more and more into betrayal and feels horrible. Chris seems to be oblivious to the rapidly spoiling mood as he lets go of Otabek to rap his knuckles against the marble bar top. “I’ll see about opening up a VIP booth for you two, but in the meantime, Nadia, get these two fine young gentlemen some tequila shots, and keep them coming.” He leans in to murmur into Otabek’s ear, “Tequila makes clothes fall off, _n’est pas_?” before clapping Otabek on the shoulder with a wicked smile. “Have fun, boys.” He hightails it out of there, so maybe he was aware of the mess he’d made after all.

Otabek bites the bullet and turns to Yuri. His arms are crossed and there’s a vulnerability to the set of his shoulders. Guilt coils heavy in Otabek’s gut. What had seemed like an amusing little prank a few minutes early is suddenly not so funny. “Otabek, what’s going on?” he asks. Otabek pinches his nose. This is not exactly a conversation to be yelled over club music. He holds up a finger to Nadia as she holds out the shots and tugs Yuri over into a slightly quieter corner, glaring at the couple taking advantage of the shadowed recess until they leave. Yuri pulls away as soon as they leave and leans back against the wall. Otabek grimaces.

“I would not touch that, if I were you,” he tells him. “The walls are one of the only surfaces that don’t get wiped down nightly.” Yuri jolts away from the wall with a look of disgust, which he soon turns on Otabek.

“And how exactly would you know that?” he accuses. Otabek holds up his hands, then shoves them in his pockets when Yuri leans away from him.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Yura, really. I DJ for a couple of clubs around here during my slower periods. I knew Chris from skating before he retired, so he hires me on a pretty regular basis.”

“If it’s not that big of a deal, then why did you pretend?”

“I…” Otabek slumps. “You just seemed so eager to surprise me. I didn’t want to steal your thunder,” he admits.

Yuri’s angry expression melts into mild annoyance. “For future reference, I’d prefer not being kept in the dark.”

“Duly noted. I’m sorry, Yura.” Yuri huffs out an exasperated sigh and flaps his hands as if to clear the air.

“Whatever. So you DJ?” Otabek blinks, thrown off by the abrupt change in topic.

“I. Yes? Yes.”

Yuri steps closer, intrigued. “How did I not know this?”

Otabek just shrugs. “I try to keep my skating life separate from the rest of my life, social media included. Privacy is important to me,” he explains, shifting as Yuri draws even closer. Yuri pokes him in the chest.

“I think I’m almost more upset that you never gave me your personal accounts than I am about the whole _I’m a secret DJ_ thing. You’re going to fix that, pronto, you hear me?”

Otabek smiles, relieved. “I’ll do it right now,” he promises, pulling out his phone.

Yuri rolls his eyes and pushes past him towards the bar. “Later, Altin. Right now, we are in need of drinks.”

Otabek watches as Yuri downs his shot, grimaces at the taste, and then gulps down Otabek’s as well. Nadia raises her eyebrows but simply hands him a lime slice and pours out another couple shots, salt packets and limes included this time. Otabek tries not to stare at Yuri’s mouth as he licks his hand and shakes salt out onto it. He distracts himself by shaking out his own salt. “Cheers!” Yuri shouts, holding out his shot glass. Otabek clinks glasses with him and is too surprised to protest when Yuri mushes his lime against Otabek’s lips. He takes it with a chuckle, offering his own up to Yuri, who bites it straight out of his hand. Otabek’s laughter dies.

Yuri must notice his expression because he spits the slice out into his hand and throws his head back, laughing. “I think I’m already a bit tipsy,” he admits, leaning in so Otabek can hear. His lips brush warm against Otabek’s cheek; Otabek swallows hard, tequila and lime juice heavy on his tongue.

“Guess I better get on your level, then,” Otabek manages. Nadia is already sliding two more shots their way with a little smirk. Otabek eyes them with the countenance of a doomed man. _This is going to be the best or worst night of my life,_ he thinks as he picks them both up. As Yuri presses up against his side and offers up his own salt dusted wrist, he hopes desperately for the former.

 

***

 

Otabek is drunk.

Otabek is drunk and Yuri is hanging, shirtless, at the top of one of the hot pink dance poles scattered throughout the club. He’s amassed a decent audience as well, cheering as he does some sort of [complicated flip](http://poledancedictionary.com/moves/345/batman/) that ends with his legs above his head in a frankly obscene split. Otabek moans and sinks down a little further into their VIP booth.

The cushion shifts as someone slides in next to him, but Otabek can’t, won’t take his eyes off Yuri. “I know, right?” Chris says sympathetically as he sets a bucket full of ice and wine down on the table. “He’s magnificent. Yuuri would kill me if he knew I was letting him pole while drunk, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be doing it at all if he weren’t, so.” He holds his hands up as if weighing options, then slings an arm over Otabek’s shoulders. “Don’t worry though, all the poles have crash pads as a precaution against partiers trying to join my go-go dancers. He is in no danger, _mon coeur_.”

Otabek leans away from Chris; he’s a warm line all down his side and Otabek is already hot enough. “He’s really good,” he mutters, reaching for the wine bottle. Chris’ eyes narrow as he watches Yuri twist himself into yet another knot around the pole.

“Mmn,” he agrees. “His lines are a bit sloppy, but that’s probably the tequila. I told you it makes clothes fall off.” He grins and nudges Otabek, making him spill the wine he’d been so carefully pouring with one eye squinted closed in concentration. He glares at Chris, annoyed, but Chris just cheerfully mops up the spill and takes the bottle and glass out of Otabek’s hands. “Maybe a bottle of water, instead, hm?” He waves at someone across the club, then turns back to Otabek. “I’ve yet to see you on the dance floor tonight.”

Otabek makes a face at the water bottle handed to him by one of the servers, but cracks it open and downs half of it in one go. He wipes his mouth with his arm as he says “I don’t dance.”

Chris snorts, and even that is elegant. “You don’t do ballet. Does that,” he gestures at the writhing dance floor, “look like ballet?”

Before he can retort, Yuri slides in on Otabek’s other side, pressing up against him tight. He’s sweaty and way too hot, but Otabek still wraps his arm around him and pulls him closer. “Those poles are amazing, Christophe,” he says, eyes bright and excited. “I’ve never tried one of the silicone ones before. I didn’t even have to take my pants off.” _Too bad,_ Otabek thinks blurrily. “Whatcha guys talking about? Ooh, water!” He takes the bottle out of Otabek’s hand and gulps down the rest, then wipes his mouth on Otabek’s shoulder like a complete heathen. Otabek wrinkles his nose and shoves his head away with a palm to the forehead. Yuri takes it and bites his thumb. Otabek gapes at him.

“What is it with you and biting?” Yuri grins around his mouthful and sucks instead. It shoots a lightning bolt of heat through Otabek’s core to pool and mix with the alcohol in his belly. The noise that escapes his mouth is undignified at best. Yuri looks smug as he pulls off with a pop.

“And on that note, I’ll take my leave,” Chris says. “Yuri, make sure you get our boy out onto the dance floor eventually. Enjoy the rest of your night, _cheries_.”

Otabek hardly pays attention as he leaves because Yuri still has a hold on his hand and is running Otabek’s spit-slick thumb over his own lips, eyes dilated and full of heat. Otabek presses against Yuri’s lower lip, dragging it down just a bit. Yuri’s tongue flickers against it as he says, “I can think of better things than dancing. How ‘bout you?”

Otabek clears his throat. “Maybe one or two.” Yuri smiles bright and big and swings his leg over Otabek. There’s not enough room in his lap, so Yuri ends up sitting on the table, knees pressed up tight against Otabek’s ribs. “I don’t think any of them would be considered appropriate use of the VIP section, though.”

“And yet I doubt we’d be the first.” Yuri leans forward, draping his arms loosely around Otabek’s neck. Otabek regards him with heavy lidded eyes.

“First to what?” Otabek asks, leaning forward to rest his forearms on Yuri’s knees so he can look up at him. He is on the precipice of something, dizzy with more than just alcohol and ready to jump, given the slightest push.

Yuri leans down and presses his forehead gently against Otabek’s. “To do this,” he whispers against Otabek’s lips, and kisses him.

Otabek surges up into it, the pressure that had been growing inside him releasing as a soft sigh Yuri swallows and returns. He draws his hands up Yuri’s legs to his hips and uses his grip to tug him closer. Yuri responds enthusiastically, one hand tangling in Otabek’s hair and fisting; Otabek makes a small, needy sound as Yuri uses his hold to guide him where he wants as he deepens the kiss. “Yura,” he murmurs as he pulls back after what seems like an eternity and a millisecond later. Yuri hums in response, free hand sliding down Otabek’s chest.

Someone clears their throat behind them. Yuri startles back with a jolt and twists to glare at the intruder. Otabek peers around his (still naked) torso to look as well. A server stands by the table, a little embarrassed and a lot amused. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says, not looking at all sorry, “but your ride is here.

“Ride?” Otabek asks. He knows he’s more than a bit tipsy, but he thinks he’d remember calling for an Uber.

“Courtesy of Mr. Giacometti,” she clarifies. She looks down at a piece of paper she’s holding and grimaces with a long suffering sigh. “He says ‘ _I took the liberty of calling you a ride, so you can go home and go for a ride. Love and kisses, your cupid._ ’ Ugh.” She hands over the paper, looking completely done with everything, turns on her heel, and leaves. Otabek looks up at Yuri, who’s looking down at him. Yuri claps his hands to his mouth, but giggles still escape around the edges. They’re infectious. Otabek drops his head to Yuri’s leg and laughs.

Yuri’s giggles cut off with a groan. “If you keep doing that, we aren’t going to make it to the car,” he warns, only half joking. Otabek pulls away, because if they don’t make their ride, they won’t get home, and if they don’t get home, well…

“Ready to go?” he asks, voice husky. Yuri nods enthusiastically, scrambling to get off the table and out of the VIP booth. Otabek chuckles and manages to stand without obviously listing to one side. “Eager, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Yuri growls, pulling him close and burying his hands in Otabek’s back pockets. He kisses Otabek roughly and Otabek responds enthusiastically, hands resting on his chest to keep balance as he pushes up onto his toes and closes the five centimeter height difference. _There was something we were meant to be doing,_ he thinks hazily, but doesn’t care enough to try and remember.

They end up missing their first ride and are shoved bodily into the second by one very exasperated server, but somehow they still manage to make it home and into Otabek’s bed in one piece.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: That first pole sit photo is actually me, because I figured why the hell not? Pole dancing is fun, guys, you should try it out! Anyways, hope you enjoyed this one as much as I did!
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * "<3" as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme for this chapter: how many tropes can Kendall fit into one chapter? I apologize for nothing.
> 
> I can be found on tumblr at [disasterbek-altin](https://disasterbek-altin.tumblr.com), Twitter at [kenda1l1](https://twitter.com/kenda1l1) and Pillowfort at [kenda1l](https://www.pillowfort.io/kenda1l). The latter two don't have much up, but I'm working on it!

Otabek wakes up sore all over, and not in the pleasant way one expects after a night of the activities he and Yuri had engaged in. No, this was more of a queasy, pounding, _I poisoned my body with alcohol and now I must deal with the consequences_ kind of way.

At least the tequila hadn’t taken his memories from him, though certain parts are a blur of hands and mouths and heat and pleasure. And laughter. Otabek smiles even though it makes his skin ache and sting like a sunburn. Laughter has never factored into sex for him before, but with Yuri it’s easy, bubbling up not in mockery, but in joy.

Otabek curls onto his side without opening his eyes and reaches out across the bed, but he only encounters cool sheets and something that crinkles as his hand brushes against it. Otabek doesn’t bother holding back his whimper of pain as he squints against the sunlight filtering through his window because Yuri isn’t here to tease him, apparently.

He finally manages to grab hold of the sheet of paper and hold it up close to his face so he can read it through blurry scratchy eyes.

 

_Beka,_

_Sorry to leave you without saying goodbye, but holy shit are you a deep sleeper! I had a morning class and Katsuki refused to take it for me, the asshole, so I had to go. I’d have been much happier spending the day in bed with you, though. I promise to make it up to you. ;P_

_I’ll see you at our session later. (I’ll go easy on you. Maybe.)_

~~_Sincerely,_ _Thanks_ _,_ _XOXO_ _,_ _Ugh never mind_~~

_Yuri_

_P.S. I had a great time last night._

_P.P.S. Pahpya is adorable. She and Potya will have to meet sometime._

Otabek groans at the thought of yoga in any shape or form right now. There’s no way he’s going. He’ll be lucky if he leaves his bed. Curse his father’s genes and propensity towards horrendous hangovers.

His phone is still in the pocket of his jeans, which thankfully had been abandoned right next to the bed. The screen ratchets up his nausea, but he still manages to type out a quick text to Yuri before putting it on Do Not Disturb and dropping it on the bedside table. He’s going back to sleep.

 

***

 

**Me: Sorry, yoga’s probably not the best idea right now, considering how wild last night was**

**Me: Talk later?**

**Me: I had a great time too, btw. Can’t wait do it again. Maybe something a bit tamer? My treat 😉  
**

 

***  


Yuri stares down at his phone, stomach hollow and heavy at the same time.

“Yura? What’s wrong?”

Yuri shuts off his phone display and shrugs Viktor off. “Nothing,” he snaps. “Hangover.”

Viktor frowns as he moves out of Yuri’s personal space. “You don’t get hangovers,” he says. “It’s one of the worst things about you. Something else is bothering you.” Curiosity outweighs the concern in his eyes, because he’s still Viktor in the end.

“What are you even doing here, idiot?” Viktor shrugs and leans against the front desk.

“Accounting. My Yuura is wrangling the kids while I catch the books up. I love him, but you know how horrible he is with money.”

Oh, Yuri is very aware. Katsuki took out loans and created Yuuga solely so he wouldn’t waste the money spent on the business license he and Phichit applied for while blitzed out of their minds.

Yuri reaches for his phone out of habit, then scowls and pushes it to the side. He doesn’t want to look at it right now. Viktor’s look slides fully into concern; it makes Yuri want to scream. “Yura, why don’t you want to look at your phone?” Yuri grimaces, looking down at his hands where they lay listlessly on the desktop. “Yura?”

Yuri sighs heavily, unlocks his phone, and slides it over. He really doesn’t feel like explaining when he doesn’t even understand himself. Viktor picks it up, expression troubled as his eyes scan over the text messages Yuri still has pulled up. Yuri knows what they say; he’s pretty sure they’re burned into his head at this point. _Sorry, yoga’s probably not the best idea right now, considering how wild last night was. Talk later?_

“Hmm…” Viktor says cryptically as he taps one finger against his lips. Then his lips curl up into a devilish smile. “Wild night, huh?”

Yuri’s face goes red hot. “Shut up, old man,” he says as he shoves Viktor roughly. Viktor chuckles and bats him away.

“Chris mentioned you two had, uh, figured things out.”

Yuri slumps dejectedly. “I thought we had,” he mutters. Viktor looks down at the phone in his hand, then hands it back.

“You know, texts are easily misinterpreted,” he says neutrally. It’s what Yuri has been telling himself for the last twenty-three minutes and counting. Hearing it in Viktor’s voice does nothing to make it sound more credible.

Still, he doesn’t want to admit that, so instead he replies with a noncommittal, “Maybe.”

“Yura, I don’t think you should read too much into this.”

“I’m not.”

“He probably just has a hangover. Not everyone is lucky like you are. Or masochistic enough to willingly twist themselves into pretzels after a _wild night_.”

“I know.”

“And he’s not ignoring you, he wants to talk.”

Yuri growls. “When has someone saying they want to talk after what was essentially a one night stand a _good_ thing?” Viktor looks away. “Yeah, exactly.” Yuri slams his hand against the desk in frustration. “Damn it! I shouldn’t have left. I should have just cancelled class, fuck the students.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Viktor says firmly. “You are an adult, and adults don’t just not go into work because they want to stay in bed with their crush.”

“Oh really? Remember that time Katsuki decided to leave a seventeen year old in charge of his business while he went on a round-the-world fuck fest? Because I do.”

Viktor leans his head in his hands with a disgustingly sappy look. “That was a great trip,” he sighs.

Yuri clenches his teeth against a scream. “Just go away already, would you? Don’t you have numbers to crunch?”

Viktor stands up straight, face falling into a more serious expression. “Things will work out, Yura. Just talk to him.” Yuri waves him off. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. Or think about it. Viktor seems to realize that because he holds his hands up in acquiescence and backs up. “Alright, I’m off. But one last word of advice?”

“What?” Yuri snaps. Viktor smiles innocently.

“My Yuura always keeps a few shirts with high collars in his locker for times things get a little… _wild_ … at work. You might want to borrow one.” Yuri blinks, confused, then claps a hand to his neck, blushing hard. No wonder his students had been giving him odd looks all throughout morning class.

“Fuck _me_ ,” he groans miserably.

Viktor laughs. “Pretty sure that job’s already taken.” He ignores Yuri’s middle fingers and disappears down the hall, but not before his voice carols back, “Talk to him, Yura.”

Yuri closes his eyes and prays for patience.

 

***

 

Yuri does not, in fact, talk to Otabek. He texts Otabek back a curt “Sorry, can’t.” Otabek doesn’t send any more, but he does call a couple times, which Yuri ignores, deleting the messages. Eventually he will have to face him and let himself be rejected, but some small part of him is operating under the idea that if you ignore a problem, maybe it will go away. It’s dumb, but so is he sometimes.

Eventually Otabek calls the studio, but it’s only to reschedule the personal session he'd missed. Katsuki takes pity on him and schedules it with himself instead, though he gives Yuri a judging look the entire time he’s on the phone. He also reluctantly agrees to take over any of the classes where Otabek might cross paths with Yuri. He has no idea why Katsuki is being so accommodating, but he suspects it has something to do with a late night drunken phone call Yuri barely remembers and refuses to acknowledge. It’s becoming a habit.

He knows he’s being a coward. He just doesn’t care.

 

***

 

Otabek walks out of his second private session with Yuuri discouraged and frustrated. Yuuri is nice, but he doesn’t push Otabek like Yuri does, which is what Otabek needs. Yuuri just keeps cautioning him, “Don’t injure yourself,” over and over.

“Like Yuri did?” he had replied dryly. Yuuri’s lips had thinned and he had looked away.

“Yes, exactly.”

 _It must suck to break all your fingers,_ Otabek thinks sarcastically. No other injury could keep him from texting back. Otabek’s stomach flips with the weird combination of resentment, confusion, hurt, and resignation that has plagued him since Yuri ghosted him. He just wants to know _why_. Otabek had thought they were on the same page, but if Yuri isn’t interested in a relationship, Otabek’s not going to make it weird. At least not any weirder than things already are.

Otabek enters the front lobby, waving at Viktor, who is sitting behind the desk while their kids Yuki and Nikolai sit on the floor next to him with crayons and coloring books. He waves to them too but doesn’t have the emotional energy to do more than that. They barely look up to respond anyway, so caught up in what they’re doing.

“Otabek?” Otabek looks over his shoulder and sees Nastya, one of The Mommies, peeking her head out of the main studio. She grins widely and Otabek groans inwardly. He likes The Mommies, likes Nastya in particular, but he just wants to go home. “I thought that was you. Trying to sneak out without saying hello? I’m hurt.”

She’s teasing, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty. He’s always spends a few minutes catching up whenever the Mommies’ classes and his own match up. Whatever is on his face, it makes Nastya frown in concern. She comes over to him. “Otabek, what’s wrong? You look terrible.”

Otabek rubs at one bicep sheepishly. “Just tired. Training’s ramping up, you know?”

“Ah, yes, congrats on the silver,” she tells him. “We all watched, made a party out of it.” She turns a searching look on him. “I don’t think that’s it though, is it? I don’t suppose it has anything to do with Yuri’s absence today, does it?” Otabek’s hesitation is answer enough. She nods sagely. “I thought so. He looked positively miserable during our last class.”

Otabek blinks, surprised. “He was?” he blurts, then frowns. “Wait, he was here?” She nods hesitantly, seeing the storm brewing on his face. “Great. Guess his ‘ _i_ _njury_ ’ only affects the classes I’m in,” he mutters bitterly. He’d been pretty sure, but it still stings to have it confirmed.

Nastya’s face crumples with sympathetic understanding. “Oh. Oh dear.” She takes his hands, expression resolving. “Okay, you need cheering up.”

 _Oh no._ “No, Nastya, that’s not necessary, really,” he says hastily, shaking his head. “I’m fine. We’re fine. Everything is all -”

“Not fine,” she says firmly. She squeezes his hands. “I recognize that look. I had that look when I was in the middle of my divorce. The last thing you need after a breakup is to wallow on your own.”

Otabek frowns. “What? We didn’t break up; we were never together in the first place.”

Nastya lets go of his hands and cocks her head. “You aren’t?” she asks, genuinely confused. “We all assumed...you two certainly act like you’re together.” She shakes her head firmly. “Well, all the more reason,then.” Before he can protest again, she’s walking back into the studio and announcing, “Otabek needs cheering up. Anyone who feels like joining us at our usual playground, please do.”

Otabek drops his head into his hand with a groan. He turns to Viktor, hoping for an ally, but Viktor just watches him with amusement barely hidden by the fingers over his mouth. Yuuri, he realizes, is also watching from further down the hallway, leaning casually against the wall. “I hate you all,” he mutters, slumping in defeat as Nastya re-emerges with Oskar and her belongings. Ekaterina, Anna, Elena and their children follow her out like ducklings.

This is happening. He’s being kidnapped by The Mommies so he can whine and moan and spill the beans about the dumpster fire he and Yuri have become. Otabek gives into his fate as Nastya links arms with him and gently guides him out of the studio.

“Good luck!” Viktor calls out as they leave.

 

***

 

Twenty minutes later finds him sitting at a park bench with The Mommies, watching their kids play on the playground and drowning his sorrows in chocolate ice cream that Amina must never find out about.

“Are you positive that there wasn’t some sort of misunderstanding?” Ekaterina asks while stirring her own ice cream into strawberry soup.

Otabek sighs and shoves a giant spoonful into his mouth sullenly. “I thought I was pretty clear, he says morosely.

“Would you mind if I looked at the texts?” Nastya asks. “An impartial eye, so to speak.” Despite her initial pushy insistence, she’s been remarkably respectful of his boundaries, quelling the other Mommies when they get too intense with the personal questions and allowing him to tell the story at his own pace. He has to admit, talking about it does seem to be helping some. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulls up their conversation, scrolling up to the original cursed texts before handing it over.

Nastya reads with narrowed eyes; Anna and and Ekaterina looking over her shoulder curiously. Nastya almost immediately makes makes a small sound, eyes widening. “What?” Otabek asks, alarmed. Nastya hands the phone back.

“Otabek, do you notice anything different about your texts?” With a frown, he drops his spoon into his ice cream cup, peering at the texts. It’s like those Find The Difference picture puzzles from when he was a kid. He was terrible at those.

Finally he huffs out a sigh of frustration. “Care to give me a clue?”

Nastya takes the phone back impatiently, then angles it so he can see the screen as well. “Look,” she says, pointing a finger at his texts. “These ones say ‘delivered’ under them, but this one doesn’t. Neither do the rest of them after that.” She’s right; the first two from that morning are normal. The rest of them, however…

Otabek’s stomach sinks. Without the third text, the first two are...rather grim. “They don’t say they _weren’t_ delivered though,” he says blankly. Nastya just shrugs.

“It’s happened to me before.” She takes a delicate bite of her ice cream and gestures with her spoon. “Remember, Anna?”

Anna nods enthusiastically. “I thought you were ignoring me. I was so,” she glances over her shoulder at the kids, “pissed.”

“It was all a misunderstanding, obviously, but we were fighting for weeks.” Nastya winks at him. “Sound familiar?”

Otabek pushes his ice cream away so he can pillow his head on his arms with a groan. “So just to be clear, you’re saying he hasn’t gotten any of my texts other than the first two that make it sound like I regret that night,” he mutters into the weather worn picnic table.

The Mommies make sounds of sympathy and someone rubs comforting circles against his back.

“It’s okay, Otabek,” Elena says, patting his forearm. “You just have to talk to him, explain what happened.” Otabek reigns in his glare before lifting his head, because Elena is a soft, sweet woman and glaring or yelling at her is akin to yelling at a puppy.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to do that, considering he’s too busy being an immature brat to answer my calls or be anywhere in my near vicinity,” he says, more than a touch bitter. Even if they somehow clear this whole thing up, they’re still going to have to have an important talk about the importance of communication.

“Actually,” Nastya muses, tapping her fingers against her mouth. “I may have a solution for that.”

 

***

 

Otabek loiters outside Yuuga with Nastya and Oskar until he gets a text from Ekaterina. His heart jumps into his throat at the sound; he throws a half panicked look at Nastya, who rolls her eyes. “It’s going to be fine,” she says, more exasperated than reassuring. She gestures to Oskar, nudging him forward and passing him off before kneeling down in front of the little boy and cupping his face in her hands. “Oyoshka, you be a good boy for Mr. Beka, okay? I’ll be back right after class, but until then, you need to stay in sight of either him or Ms. Katya. Understand?”

Oskar nods, serious and intense. He’s a solemn little boy who acts much older than his five years. Otabek likes him, but that doesn’t mean the idea of being responsible for him isn’t vaguely terrifying. Satisfied, she kisses him on the forehead, then stands and cups Otabek’s face and kisses his forehead too. Otabek makes a face but suffers the indignity in silence. Nastya laughs, smudging some lipstick off his brow. “Alright, hurry up. If you’re too late, he’ll try to kick you out.” Otabek steels himself with a nod, then turns to lead Oskar inside. “Otabek!” Nastya calls. He looks over his shoulder. Nastya gives him two thumbs up, grinning. “Good luck and remember, my payment is details, so make ‘em juicy.”

Otabek muffles a pained sound. Allah, save him from meddling Mommies.

 

***

 

 _God save me from meddling Mommies_ , Yuri thinks with dawning horror as Otabek walks into the Mommy and Me class with Oskar in tow, just shy of the five minute cut off. “Where’s Nastya?” he asks tightly as Oskar runs off to join his friends and Otabek comes up the the front to grab some blocks.

“She had an emergency, asked if I could take Oskar,” he says, face inscrutable. “Routines are very important for children.”

Yuri grits his teeth. He’d known this day was coming sooner than later because if nothing else can be said of Otabek, he is not a quitter. Bringing a kid into this clusterfuck is pretty low, though. “Having a kid with you doesn’t mean you can crash the class. We’re full,” he says shortly.

Otabek’s face tightens with annoyance. “Really, Yuri?” he says, voice low and full of some emotion Yuri can’t parse, but it’s sure not a good one. “You’re going to kick a kid out of class because you’re too stubborn to just talk to me?”

“I don’t like being manipulated,” he snaps, but Otabek is right. This isn’t fair to Oskar, and he’s not going to stoop to Otabek and Nastya’s level. Or the rest of the Mommies, because as he glances over Otabek’s shoulder, several of them are looking away just a little too intently. “Fine, but we aren’t doing this until after class, got it?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, then Yuri claps his hands to gain the attention of the other students and kids. “Alright everyone, to your mats, let’s get started!”

Otabek regards him impassively for a moment more before turning away. Yuri just catches his smile as Oskar runs over to him, and it hurts. He wants to see that smile aimed at him, even just for one more time. It’s not likely, at this point.

Otabek sets his and Oskar’s mats next to Ekaterina and her daughter Zia, leaning over to murmur something to her that makes her smile and squeeze his shoulder. Jealousy sparks through Yuri’s veins, but he tamps it right back down where it belongs.

“Uncle Yura?” Nikolai pokes Yuri’s leg with one sharp finger, startling him. “Uncle Yura, can we start now?” He says it in the same sweet tone Viktor does when he’s hardcore judging someone. Yuri narrows his eyes at him and points a finger.

“Yes.” He turns to face the room at large. “Let’s start out with a few deep breaths and a namaste.”

 

***

 

The worst part about Otabek crashing the Mommy and Me class, as far as Yuri is concerned, is that watching him interact with Oskar and the other kids is painfully adorable. He’s starting to understand where the Mommies are coming from. He's obviously spent more time than Yuri thought with them, because he seems to know the majority of the kids’ names and they definitely know him, saying hello and babbling to him about whatever things are important in their little kid worlds. He tries not to be sullen about it. Normally he’s the one they swarm, but clearly they’ve upgraded to a newer model.

Nastya shows up just as people are filing out. She winks cheekily at Yuri. Yuri scowls, points at her, and then draws a finger across his throat. She just laughs and collects Oskar, ushering the lingering Mommies and kids out like the Alpha Mom she is. It leaves him alone with Otabek, which is the very last thing he wants.

Otabek approaches him slowly, the first signs of nervous vulnerability peeking through the cracks of his mask. “Want some help with cleanup?” he asks with a tentative smile, offering up a rag and bottle he must have picked up when Yuri was studiously ignoring him.

“No,” Yuri says flatly. Otabek’s expression falls, before hardening into one Yuri has never seen before.

“Let me rephrase that,” he growls. “I’m going to help you with clean up and we will talk while we do it.”

“I’m not interested in talking,” Yuri says sullenly, but he knows he’s fighting a losing battle, one he’s only really fighting out of pure, stubborn pride.

“Great, because all I really need you to do is listen anyway.” He shoves the rag into Yuri’s chest. Yuri does his best to ignore the warmth of his hand seeping through. He snatches it out of Otabek’s hand with a scowl, but pushes past him to collect blocks.

Otabek gives him the time to compose himself as they gather them up, staying quiet until they are sitting with the blocks between them.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Otabek says, studiously keeping his gaze on the block he’s wiping down. It’s subtle, but he can hear the threads of hurt weaving through his voice. It aches to hear, but Yuri knows it’s only likely to get worse.

He swallows hard. “Yeah.”

“And I think I know why.”

“I’d hope so. Most people prefer not to get turned down, you know. Not exactly rocket science.” The amount of sarcasm he’s radiating is enough to make even him wince. He sighs. “Whatever, just get it over with, since you’re so determined to actually say it.”

Otabek gives a small, frustrated grunt, and practically slams the block he’s holding down next to him. “You are so goddamned stubborn. Maybe if you’d actually taken half a second to talk to me instead of running away, you'd understand and we wouldn't be here now.”

Yuri glares, hand curling tightly around his rag. “I don’t see what’s so hard to understand,” he snaps. “Your texts were pretty damn clear.”

“No, they weren’t, because you didn’t get them all! If you’d just let me -”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, it must have been so hard having to actually come _see_ me to turn me down instead of -”

“- talk for five minutes then -”

“- just doing it over text. But in case you hadn’t noticed, I got the -”

“Yuri, _shut up!_ ” Otabek’s voice rings throughout the studio. Yuri’s mouth clamps shut out of pure surprise. Rage and embarrassment flood hot over his face and he jumps to his feet.

“What the _fuck_ , don’t you dare yell at me in my own studio, asshole, and definitely don’t tell me to shut up!”

Otabek gets to his feet too, hands clenched and face red. “I wouldn’t have to yell or tell you to shut up if you’d just do it for once in your life,” he hisses. Yuri’s jaw drops. Otabek closes his eyes, trying to compose himself. “Yuri, please, I’m trying to tell you...” he trails off for a moment.

“What?” Yuri snarls. “Spit it out, Altin, I’m listening. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Otabek lets out a strangled noise and throws up his hands. “I’m trying to tell you that _I like you!_ ” Yuri takes in a sharp, involuntary breath, eyes widening. “I like you, and I’ve been trying to tell you that for over a week now, but you won’t let me.”

“Well, I didn’t know that and I’m sorry!” Yuri shouts back.

“So am I!”

“ _Why are you two yelling at each other?_ ” Yuri jumps and spins to face Katsuki, who is staring at them with complete exasperation. “This is the worst love confession I’ve ever heard and it’s ruining my pole class, so either quiet down or go somewhere else, got it?” When both of them are too stunned to answer, he snaps his fingers and points at them. “ _Got it?_ ”

Yuri nods meekly, properly cowed, as Otabek says, “Yes, sir,” in a subdued voice.

Katsuki watches them for a moment, as if trying to determine their sincerity, then nods. “Good,” he says grudgingly. “For goodness sake, you two, get it together. You’re both being ridiculous and I think I speak for everyone when I say that it’s getting old.” He spins on his heel and disappears.

“Well, this is incredibly awkward,” Yuri says with a weak smile. Otabek doesn’t look amused.

“My phone glitched,” he says quietly. “I didn’t realize you weren’t getting all my texts. I wasn’t telling you that I wasn’t interested in...this.” He gestures between the two of them helplessly. “Here, look.” He goes over to his gear bag, digs his phone out, and offers it to Yuri. He takes it gingerly, eyes flicking between Otabek and the phone’s screen, before his attention is caught by the display. There, in plain sight, are half a dozen texts Yuri most definitely did not get.

Yuri really wishes he’d gotten those texts.

Yuri groans, knocking the phone against his forehead as he curses himself, Apple, the world, and whichever chaos entity decided it would be fun to fuck with his life. Otabek gently takes the phone back from him before Yuri does damage to the phone or himself. “So,” he starts.Yuri opens his eyes. Otabek is watching him with a warm, wry smile. Yuri blows out a breath and tugs at his hair before holding a hand out.

“Hi, my name is Yuri and I have successfully managed to channel every horrible, cliched romcom that’s ever been written. Wanna get a drink sometime?”

Otabek laughs and shakes it heartily. “My name is Otabek and apparently I am not immune to the miscommunication trope either. How about dinner instead?”

Yuri bites down a giggle, stomach bubbling effervescent and giddy. He takes a step closer, grabs a handful of Otabek’s shirt. “Or maybe we could skip all that and go straight to breakfast tomorrow morning instead? I’d really like a redo of the morning after.”

Otabek snorts, but lets Yuri draw him in. “I feel like there’s an actual decent pickup line buried in there somewhere, but I’m a little too distracted right now to dig it up.”

“Trust me, there is nothing decent about what I plan to do with you,” Yuri purrs, and cuts Otabek’s responding groan off with a kiss.

 

***

 

“Oh my God, not in the studio, Jesus!” Yuuri yelps as he backs quickly out of the private studio.

Yuri only pulls back far enough to yell, “Payback’s a bitch, Katsudon!”

 

***

 

Yuri and Otabek announce their relationship on the studio’s Instagram at Yuri’s insistence. Otabek has never attempted to kiss someone while twisting his body into contortions he’s still not sure he’s made for, but he sure has a lot of fun trying.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they all lived snarkily ever after. I hope you guys enjoyed the ride! Once again, please give my artist [Parheliona](https://parheliona.tumblr.com/post/180959154884/my-contribution-for-the-otayuri-big-bang)lots of love for her amazing artwork, and check out her other stuff as well; everything she creates is gorgeous!


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